


A Tragedy, In Hindsight

by hjbaltimore



Series: The Lernaean Problem [2]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Espionage, F/M, Hostage Situations, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapping, M/M, Nightmares, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Sleepers (Marvel), Torture, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1935606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjbaltimore/pseuds/hjbaltimore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems like everyone in the world is looking for James Barnes.</p><p>After the Hellicariers went down, the Winter Soldier finds himself in London seeking answers, with Sam and Steve not far behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where Do We Begin?

The first time he is frozen was the worse. But really, it never got easier either. He was just less able to show it.

 

Impossible, he knew, but one time he could swear he watched it happen. Time slowed to a torturous pace; the crystals layering his skin, the stopping of his heart, the inability to move anything, the last misty breath out for years, and the small but thick glass window to his casket frost over.

 

It was impossible. The process happened almost instantly, and there were certainly no ice crystals. That would lead to frostbite, which if bad enough would sometimes require-

 

The frayed nerves of his left shoulder twitched.

 

He wasn't even entirely sure if his heart actually stopped or not. He just assumed. The process was never explained, and he never needed to know. He never needed to know anything, really.

 

And that’s probably what made everything so difficult at present. He didn't _know_ anything. Returning to the base was more of an instinct. There wouldn’t be anyone there. Even if there was, the target was still alive. He had only ever failed twice before: his first mission as the Winter Soldier (they were very clinical that time, almost forgiving, because he just needed “more work”), and once in the 60’s when he hesitated just half a second too long (they were not so forgiving that time).

 

He had run away before, too, after a mission in Dallas. He hadn’t been allowed to do missions in America after that for nearly three decades. He questioned orders from time to time. Even beat an operative working with him to near death once. He didn’t remember these incidents, but the punishments had done their job none the less. This time would be no different, assuming there was anyone left to inflict it.

 

He waited at the bank, at Pierce's home (at least until the FBI came and took just about everything not nailed down), and finally at a safe house near Vermont Avenue. Four days of nothing.

Bucky leaned back on the wall, slowly sliding down into a crouch. He looked at his hands. The knuckles on his right were free of any cuts, but had yellowed over in ugly bruises. The left was dented and stiff, debris clogging the joints. He heard himself laughing. Or maybe it was crying. Neither one he had memory of doing, though he had seen it on others. They were pathetic, weak sounds, and bitter tears stung his eyes while he clutched hysterically at his head.

_Stop it, stop it stop it stop it stop it STOP IT STOP stop stop stop stop_

He rocked on the heels of his feet. If no one was coming, he would have give himself orders. Where would he even start?

 

* * *

 

 

The Smithsonian was a waste of time. It took all his resolve to not shatter the exhibit piece with his face on it.

 

Brooklyn didn’t help much either. If anything, it was worse. A muted sense of longing engulfed him. It felt better to avoid the place altogether then to be overwhelmed.

 

He found himself in an airport. Huge and looming, with too many people, too much security, and not enough exits. He couldn’t go back to that man from the bridge. The Winter Soldier never felt guilt, and though Bucky wasn't quite sure who he was right now, he _definitely_ felt guilt. About what he wasn't sure, all he knew is that he couldn’t face the man from the bridge.

Steve.

The thought of confronting him after the disaster on the Helicarrier made him physically sick, heaving up bile and and stomach acid into a filthy public toilet. Regardless, if his masters would not come to him, he would go to them, beat them bloody until information bled from their lips and the world made sense again. _Or more likely_ , he thought bitterly, _give up and beg for leniency_. 

 

The United States was unfamiliar to him, but in western Europe alone he knew of twenty different Hydra buildings, either labs or safehouses, that surely held something of use. It was an inexpensive, but surprisingly nice London hostel he settled in. They had free maps in the lobby, and he began pinpointing spots on the map of the bases he knew of, when suddenly he felt the presence of someone watching him. If it was Hydra, he wasn't sure if he’d run away or let himself be taken. He hadn't planned that far ahead yet. Anyone else there would be no qualms about killing if it came down to it. By the time he turned to look, they were gone.

 

* * *

 

 

“Mr. Barnes? A letter arrived for you today.”

 

It took him a second too long to realize the woman at the desk was talking to him, and her face wrinkled up in concern.  There were over two dozen guests, and Bucky wondered with a kind of panic if she’d memorized everyone’s name or just his.

 

“Sir, are you alright?”

 

He froze like a deer in headlights. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

 

Bucky walked stiffly back to his bunk and shut the curtain. Was it summons for a rendezvous time? A kill order? It seemed improbable that it could be anything other than one of these. Nobody knew him except his handlers and- well, he tried not to think about the other man.

 

In neatly typed letters it said “meet at Queen Mary Garden, Regents Park, 1300 hours tomorrow”.

 

His throat was dry. No name or address, but really, who else could it be? Though he thought it was strange that they did not simply send in some agents right now, instead of giving him over 20 hours notice. He could easily travel to the other side of the world in that amount of time.

 

He shoved the letter under his pillow and started to pick at the glove on his left hand. He had first taken clothes out of the back of a donation center. After looking semi-normal, it was almost too easy to take clothes from some stores in first mall he came across. Security systems come and go, but humans are as oblivious as ever.

 

Currently, a dark gray shirt (almost uncomfortably soft) with some graphic on it, jeans, and a black leather jacket with matching gloves were his favorite. Mostly the leather jacket. It felt familiar.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Familiarity came in droves today, it seemed. The lips against his had a shape and feel to them that reached the very back of his mind. Bucky didn’t bother looking at who it was; he kissed back and sank into the arms around him.

 

One hand was petting his hair, the other slowly circling his shoulderblade. Bucky sighed into the other’s neck. Unconsciously rubbing his hard-on already, he went to remove his pants, only to realize they were already naked. He felt dizzy, like all the blood had left his body at once and everything felt both wonderfully, blissfully aching and numb all at once. He wrapped his arms tighter around the body against him, jerking his hips, grunting rhythmically.

 

Although his eyes were shut as tightly as possible, he could see the whole room. It was nowhere recognizable. It looked like a sauna ( _what’s a sauna?_ ) without benches or steam. He went back in for another kiss, shoving his tongue in desperately and whining when it wasn’t enough. It was violent without malice; he couldn’t touch enough fast enough, and it _hurt._

 

Hands wandering down to their groins he held them together, sliding his fist as steadily as he could with pre-cum slicking his hand. He wanted to slow down. He sped up. He didn’t want it to end because damn it, his body hadn’t felt anything like this in too damn long. He clenched his teeth and choked back guttural whimper as fat, hot tears rolled down his cheeks. The other man loosened his grip.

 

“It’s okay, Bucky.”

 

He froze.

 

He lifted his head and looked down. Steve’s face, bloody and swollen looked back at him barely conscious, spitting up river water. The gravel and dirt underneath his knuckles stung; he leapt back, the sounds of sirens and metal scraping as it crashed into the water ringing in his ears. His legs lost balance and he fell backwards.

Bucky landed on his pillow, shaking the entire frame the bunk beds. He heard a sleepy moan above him, and decided it was too dangerous to move.

* * *

 

It was a very well put together disguise, as in it wasn't a disguise at all. If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve easily passed the man in a street and never notice. But Bucky did know better, and knit his brows together in confusion.

 

“I killed you.”

 

Fury smirked. “Always double-tap if you can.”

 

Bucky didn’t move.

 

“Don’t worry about it, you and maybe a dozen other people are the only ones who know. Not that Pierce could do anything about it anyway. He _is_ dead.”

 

“Oh.”

 

He motioned him over to sit on a bench surrounded by immaculately trimmed bushes. It was a wide open space, though the bordering plants would give easy cover for snipers and assassins. Too many variables to count should trouble show up. It made him uneasy, but the man who should be dead but isn’t doesn’t seem too worried. Maybe he shouldn’t be either.

 

“Honestly I can’t believe you showed up. Or that you were using the name ‘James Barnes’ to rent a bed.”

 

Bucky flicked his eyes from Fury to his own lap and shrugged. “Nobody else was using the name.”

 

“Still, seems pretty stupid if you’re trying to lay low. Unless, you were hoping someone would find you.”

 

A lean, muscular woman jogged by. Every part of his body seized until she was a good ten yards away.

 

“Well, I’ll get to the point then. I want to offer you a job.”

 

Bucky swept some hair out of his eyes. “Why not just take me?”

 

“For one thing, I don’t think I could take you in a fight. You’ve got that arm and I,” he gestured to his body, stiffer than one naturally holds themself, “am still recovering from the last time we met.”

 

Something in the back of his head told him he should say “sorry”, but the word didn’t have any weight to it. It died on his lips.

 

“But mostly, I think you’ve had enough of your life controlled by others. So as long as you don’t go around assaulting civilians, I think you can make your own choices. Don’t you?”

 

Bucky thought for a second. “I’ve stolen garments and currency from civilians.”

 

Fury waved him off. “I’m willing to overlook that. If you take my offer, you won’t have to steal. I can get you money, clothes, food. Anything you need. I can even get your arm fixed.”

 

He was quiet. The other man didn’t seem to be in any rush, just casually scanning the area behind his shades, faint trace of a smile on his lips.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Fury produced a slip of paper. “You don’t have to decide right now. Or tomorrow. Or even for the next five years. But when you want to talk, call this number. Tell them who you are, and they’ll put you through to me.”

 

His looked at it for a several minutes unblinking. Eventually, he stuck it in his boot, with the promise to burn it once he was sure he’d memorized it.

 

Fury got up to leave, but hesitated. He looked the kind of person who didn’t do that very often.

 

“Steve Rogers is looking for you.”

 

“He shouldn't be.”

 

“You saved his life.”

 

“I don’t know why.”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“It should.”

 

Fury cleared his throat. Another nervous habit that looked highly uncharacteristic of the man.

 

“Do you want me to tell him where you are?”

 

Bucky thought about dry heaving in the bathroom again.

 

“No.”

 

“He’s going to find you eventually. That man is nothing if not relentless.”

 

“Don’t I know it,” he chuckled. The smile faded as quickly as it came. He wasn't sure why it there in the first place.

He looked back up. Fury was already halfway on his way out of the garden, and Bucky was half tempted to run after him, have order to his life again with a commanding officer to tell him what to do. But that voice, the same one that suggested the “sorry” earlier, was now saying _I think we need a little more time alone first_. This time, he listened.


	2. Some Things Had Happened, Others Had Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve prepares for the worst, and Bucky struggles to figure out his next move.

There were no big, sudden flashes of entire memories. They slip back to him unannounced, casually as though they had never left.

_That woman looks like my mom as an old lady._

__

_I used to have that book._

__

_London sure has changed._

__

_Were ferris wheels always that big?_

__

_Steve’s girl would look amazing in that dress. I should tell him to-_

He should leave the city soon. If Steve really was looking for him, it wouldn’t take long for him to catch up. No to mention, the place was becoming as bad a Brooklyn. He didn’t even know he’d been here before Hydra and the Soviets, but walking around the streets gave a similar feeling of wanting something he could no longer have.

He ducked into an ally. There had been a few groups of gun smugglers based in Soho he’d used during a mission in the 90’s. The other two were long gone but this one was, somehow, still in business, and still posing as a record store.

There’s no way he get out of the country with them, but there was Hydra base that still looked active in the area, and he couldn’t just ignore it. Whether he’d let them take him back as the Winter Soldier, or stomp on them like cockroaches, he hadn’t decided, but either way he was not going in without a weapon.

The bell on the door rang dully as it opened, and a bored-looking 20 some year old white man with the unkempt beginnings of a beard gave only the most token effort to lift his eyes from his phone.

“Can I help you with anything sir?”

_< Tell Gerry or whoever it is in charge nowadays I need to see him.>_

The man stared at him. “Um, could you repeat that?”

_< Go get them before I smash through the door myself.>_

“Uh… boss? Come ‘ere. There’s some creepy Russian with long hair out here asking for you you. I think.”

“What the fuck are you talking abo-”

Bucky pulled off his gloves and leather jacket, letting his left arm gleam under the florescent light.

The scuzzy man had to be in his 50’s now, wearing a filthy blue hoodie, dark circles sagging under his eyes.

“Oh shit.”

_< I need some guns.>_

__

_< Oh hell no. If you’re here something bad is about to go down. Go find someone else.>_

__

_< I came to you. Either get me some weapons or I’ll break your neck and take them anyway.>_

__

“Boys, I need some back up!”

Three other men came rushing out of the back room. The first one jumped of over the counter with a growl. Buck grabbed the man’s face with his left and punched the throat with his right. He fell to the floor wheezing, where Buck lifted his boot and brought it down with a crunch on his windpipe.

The young clerk screamed several obscenities before flying out the door and letting his phone clatter to the floor.

_< Where are they?>_

__

_< I-in the back. Behind a false wall next to the file cabinet.>_

He hopped over and pushed the man aside. It was an impressive stash, but not enough to turn a profit. The real merchandise had to be somewhere else, but Bucky was beyond caring, and just grabbed a couple handguns, a revolver, and some bullets before walking back out the door, past the three remaining and unmoving criminals behind the counter.

 

 

 

_“Bolshoe spasibo, tovarishch.”_

 

* * *

“Sir, Captain Rogers is on his way in. Should I ask him to wait?”

“Hang on for a minute Bruce. Nah, let him in Jarvis. The guy has been itching to get at me since he and Harvey Birdman showed up at three in the fucking morning. He’d probably just punch through the glass...”

Tony was perched on an overly plush office chair smeared with grease and dotted with streaks of singed fabric, hunched over and eating a bowl of (cereal? it looked more like candy) something so sugary Steve could smell it from three feet away. It set his teeth on edge.

“Tony, I need a favor.”

The room was large and grey with no ceiling and metal scraps hanging off the pipes above their heads, but with an entire wall of windows overlooking the city. Around him there was hardly room to walk, but managed to tip toe over to a stool opposite Tony.

“Oh god, please tell me you want me to design you a new suit. Anything to keep you out of that star spangled nightmare of a costume you stole back from the museum,” he said over the clatter of a pile of old hard drives falling to the floor.

“What? No, that’s not-”

“Can I make you a new one anyway? And since you won’t be needing the old one maybe I-”

“No! Stark, shut up. Just for two minutes. This is important.”

He raised an eyebrow and stopped chewing. “Alright, lay it on me.”

Steve sighed. “I’m not going to insult you by asking if you know about everything in D.C.”

“You just did.”

He couldn’t even be bothered to do a complete eye roll. He narrowed his gaze and continued. “So obviously you’ll know I’m going after the Winter Soldier.”

“Chasing the old Buckaroo. Yeah, I figured. Well Cap, let me not insult you by saying it’s probably not a good idea.”

“Uh huh…”

“Because if I were you, I’d do the same thing. Honest to god,” he said, flicking his spoon up to his heart, cereal flying overhead.

Steve gave a half hearted twitch of a smile. “Look, I know we aren’t super buddy-buddy. But after everything, you are one of the very few people in the whole world that I trust right now. Tracking down Bucky is going to involve a lot of confrontations with Hydra, the military… I don’t know, everyone and anyone. So if I don’t make it back-”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m not _done yet._ If I can’t do it, if I don’t make it back, I need you to finish it for me.”

“Finish as in…”

“If I don’t make it back, I need you to take care of Bucky. Do what you have to; get him some help, keep him stable. I don’t want to force anything on him if possible, but if something happens to me, I need to know someone will keep him from falling again. Help him find his way.”

Tony stared wide-eye, jaw dropping a little before he became aware of himself. “Jesus, Rogers…”

Steve had faded dark circles around his eyes, hair like he’d given the most minimal of effort to maintain. For once in all the time he’d known him, Tony realized his shirt hung off his shoulders like it was a size too big.

“Hell, I can’t say no that. But you gotta promise me one thing, Cap,” he said, leaning in closer, any humor gone from his tone.

“What?”

“You’d better damn well not make any stupid mistakes. I don’t want hear from anyone that you went down in some goddamn self-sacrificing way. Don’t go looking for an excuse to not come back from this. Got it?”

There was a little spark of _something_ after that. Steve brushed away some stray wires lying on the table and held out his hand. “It’s a deal.” He got up to leave.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to stay a little longer for some strategy planning, eh?”

He shook his head. “There isn’t much to strategize. We’re just chasing dubious leads at this point.”

“What about supplies? Weapons? Jacuzzi party in my private jet?”

“I will certainly let you know if we need any of that.”

“If I end up having to take care of Barnes, I’m going to tell him you peed yourself in your final moments!” Tony shouted as Steve walked through the threshold.

He turned around and even cracked a quick smile for that.

“Howard was a good man, Tony. But you’re better than him. I want you to remember that.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

The automatic doors had already slid shut.

\---

“Hey, sorry Brucey boy. You were saying something about ‘a very stern shade of blue’ or whatever?”

“What was that all about?” Bruce’s voice crackled over the speakers.

“Cap showed up.”

“Yeah, I got that. Then you muted me. What did he want?”

“Something I would never have guessed in a million years. He apparently holds me in far more esteem than I deserve.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but breathed harshly over the intercom. “Tony, I have to go. I’m getting funny looks, I gotta keep moving.”

“You wouldn’t have to keep moving if you’d just come back to the tower.”

“Oho, no thank you. I need a nice long vacation away from anywhere the US military has jurisdiction. I don’t have S.H.I.E.L.D as my babysitter anymore, remember?”

“Can’t I at least call up Betty for you?”

“Hell no, keep her out of this. They don’t have the guts to mess with you, but if you think Ross won’t arrest and interrogate his own daughter for even an indirect line to me, you are sadly mistaken.”

“Yeaaaah... I’m going to see what I can do about _that_ too. I never liked that guy. Oh man, did I ever tell you about how I tricked him into keeping custody your friend Blonsky…?”

“Tony, I know you can’t see it, but I want you to know I am rolling my eyes. I’ll call back when I can.”

* * *

“Someone stop him! He got my purse!”

The man rammed past Bucky, nearly throwing him off balance. More out of reflex than anything, he grabbed the man’s collar, who dropped the bag as he grasped at his throat. A policeman and the woman came running up behind. He dropped the robber, whose lips had started to turn blue.

The officer cuffed the man and began to drag him away, while the woman collected her things and then, without warning, wrapped her arms around Bucky, who froze completely.

“Ah! Thank you so much young man! I nearly lost my passport and everything.”

“It’s um, nothing ma’am.”

“Oh yes it is! Here,” she stuffed a ten pound note in his hand. “Go buy some ice cream or something sweetheart. You look absolutely pale.” She pat his cheek, and walked off after the officer.

He didn’t move, even as the crowd around him resumed. He just stared at the crinkled bill in his hand with utter confusion. He tried to think about the last time he ate, his stomach twisting in knots when realising he truly couldn’t remember a time he _wasn't_ fed through some tube that went straight to his stomach, or through an IV.

It’s been two weeks since he was with his handlers. Had he really not eaten since then? Is that even possible? _Are we even still alive?_

__

* * *

He ended up in small cafe, huddled in a corner that offered a full view of the dining room. His fingers twitched anxiously over the warm plate, half expecting a sickly sweet voice to tell him to wait like a dog in training. Bucky would hit himself if he thought it wouldn’t draw attention.

_Just pick it up. What are we afraid of? Just pick up the sandwich._

He settled for digging his fingers on both hands into his thighs. It hurt, but he could still only stare.

His waitress had been not-so-subtly glancing over every few minutes, with an increasingly complex set of emotions washed over her face. The butter knife he received with the rest of his silverware wouldn’t be sharp enough to cut skin, but with enough force could easily puncture her jugular, if need be.

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say anything, but you are breaking my heart.”

“...excuse me?” he asked, nearly dropping the knife in surprise.

“My friend used to have the same look on her face. I don’t know if you’re a model or a boxer or a dancer or something, but watching your weight cannot possibly be worth starving over.”

“I don’t-”

“Please eat.”

“I-,” he looked at his food again in panic. “I can’t.”

“I said **eat** ,” she commanded.

Without another thought he snatched up the club and took a bite. He couldn’t remember anyone having ever looked so relieved and full of disbelief in his life.

“Oh my gosh that was really rude of me. God, this isn’t even my business. I’m sorry I’ll just leave now, find you a new waitress or something…” she mumbled, red faced and slinking away back to the kitchen.

He finished every last crumb, including the garnish, and spent several minutes afterwards breathing heavily through his nose trying will away the sick churning in his gut. Out of the back of his mind came an image of a long tube pulled from stomach, throat gagging around it, and a harsh voice ordering to not throw anything up. Was that him? He remembered the feeling of a feeding tube, but also a strong lightheadedness, like he was floating above while it happened.

He caught the same waitress stealing glances again. He threw what was probably close to forty dollars on the table and shuffled out the side door, head down, winding around several corners before the waitress could catch up with him.

* * *

_I didn’t ask for your help._

__

_Well jeez Steve, you don’t need to be a jerk about it. I thought you were gonna hack up a lung!_

__

_You spent our food money!_

__

_Stupid me, I thought breathing might be a little more urgent._

* * *

“Hey Steve, you okay?”

He jerked awake, and saw Sam facing him with one raised eyebrow.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“You were making weird whiny noises.”

“Wha- I was not!” he gasped indignantly.

Sam laughed. “Yeah you were! What, were you dreaming about mama Rogers scolding you for playing in the dirt?”

“Um, first off, Captain America doesn’t whine, Sam. Second, I was dreaming about the time Bucky wasted a week's worth of grocery money. So there.”

Sam’s face softened a little. “What did he spend it on?”

Steve scratched the back of his neck. “My asthma medicine.”

“Doesn’t sound like a waste to me.”

“Ahunhna…” he grunted, waving Sam off and turning towards the plane’s window. They had been over the ocean well past an hour at this point, and he could only pretend to be interested in it for so long.

“So did you ever-”

“No.”

“I didn’t ask yet!”

“I haven’t called her. I did text her, but it’s hard to talk like that. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, what about your love life?”

“Eh, I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Uh huh. But it’s okay to discuss mine.”

“Obviously. Your love life is juicy gossip I could sell to a trashy tabloid.”

Steve snorted. “You sure know how to cheer a fella up, don’t you?”

Sam grinned and crossed his arms. “So what were you talking with Stark about? I didn’t even get a chance to meet the guy, but you just barged into his New York tower like you owned it. And instead of kicking us out he set us up in the most expensive looking rooms I’ve ever seen. Like he was just waiting for someone to use ‘em.”

“The same thing I wanted to talk with you about, actually.” Steve was still smiling, but his eyes looked exhausted all the sudden. “I’m not afraid to do what I have to. But if I don’t make it back, either with this or even something else in the future, I asked Stark to take care of Bucky for me. I’m a little ashamed to say I half asked him because he’s got the resources, but… I don’t have a lot of friends in the world, but I trust the Avengers.  And well, I was wondering if I could ask you too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take care of Bucky. Don’t let him lose himself.”

Sam was silent, trying to process it while Steve refused to make eye contact, looking thoroughly ashamed of himself.

“That’s pretty heavy Rogers.”

“No, that was- it wasn’t right of me to ask that.”

“Woah woah, did I say I was refusing?”

Steve looked up, almost hopeful.

“But I gotta ask man. If you answer me I swear I will keep him in a cage and straightjacket in my house Walking Dead style if I have to. But…”

He stopped. Steve was still watching him contritely, hands folded over on another, stroking his thumb into the palm of his hand. Sam started again, but the words fell flat.

“You know what, never mind.” _I get it._

* * *

It had been three days since Karpov died, five days since he’d eaten anything, and seventeen months since he was last frozen. He felt sick, not only from the stench of the body, but the hunger twisting around his stomach, and the heat trapped beneath his combat gear.

“See that bottle over there?” he’d ordered, laying in bed. “You may not have anything else until the retrieval team comes to get you. You will spend every waking moment guarding my body, you mindless dog.”

“Yes sir.”

He died ninety minutes later. Department X had said they would likely be delayed due to current political strife in the region (one that had been planned long ago, he was assured), and that the Soldier was to protect the estate and it’s contents at all costs.

So he sat down, and waited. The bottle of water had long been drained of it’s contents, and the Soldier had stopped sweating a half hour ago. He lifted a gloved finger to his mouth and wiped the blood clean from his cracked lips.

A tall, blue-eyed blond-haired man with a star on his chest and shield in his hand hovered over Karpov’s bloated form. He tried to get up and fight of the intruder, but his legs were lock wearily in position.

“S’alright Buck. Just a little farther, okay?”

He was speaking to him in English. The Soldier knew he knew how to speak that, but all he could do in return was cough harshly, like spitting up sand.

“You’re in rough shape, but if it helps, at least you aren’t the one about to be court martialed!” he laughed.

The Soldier felt his eyes drifting. Like sleep, but more desperate.

The man was closer now. “Here, I’ll carry you so you can get some rest. Ain’t no one gonna tease you about it. And if they do I’ll whack 'em on the head for you, alright?” he said with a wink.

After falling asleep for what seemed like only seconds, he was now being frantically stripped, ice cold water pour over his head, to exhausted to even shiver at.

“He’s awake!”

“Winter Soldier, do you know how long you’ve been out?”

“Lift your arm.”

“Status report.”

“Speak damn it!”

There were too many commands, and the Soldier felt his eyes droop once more until the sting of a leather glove rattled his teeth.

“Answer me, Soldier.”

He lolled his head and tried to focus on the bed where the general had lain.

“There was a man…”

“What?”

“An American with a shield…”

“Shit, he’s seeing things again.”

“Damn it. I knew we shouldn’t have let Karpov take him this long...”

 

* * *

Bucky opened his eyes. He was still sitting on the roof of office building overlooking the target, and he nearly snapped the gun he was cleaning in half; partly out of anger, but mostly from shame. He dropped the gun and curled in on himself, twisting his fingers in his hair, rocking back and forth and muttering _stop it stop it stop it stop it._

__

It had taken less than an hour of asking around to learn that the “company” that been here moved five years ago, but kept the property as a storage facility for their servers and old files. Even Bucky, in all his limited knowledge, could tell that was the shittiest cover story ever, considering the barbed wire and armed guards.

With shaking hands, he threw himself back into the task in front of him and shoved the gun back together.

* * *

 

“Base One, this is Warehouse Surveillance Five. We’re picking up movement in our section. Was wondering on your recommended course of action.”

“Is it Strucker?”

“Hell no. If it was his men I wouldn’t have to call it in, ‘cause I’d be yelling loud enough for you to hear.”

“Who is it?”

“Dunno. Probably another dumb kid who hopped the fence.”

“Over barbed wire?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Huh. Standard procedure, then. Since D.C., RS has said to treat every breach as an emergency. Alert the response team, WS5. Status update in two minutes.”

“Copy that.”

The guards moved silently for about thirty seconds, after which Bucky could hear them tackling the boy outside to the ground, who was now crying and insisting he didn't even know what the place was. Bucky wondered if maybe he should have given him more money for his trouble.

He hugged the wall trying to avoid the cameras he could see, though suspecting there were likely twice as many he couldn’t. Despite doors as heavy as he was and the most high tech locks on the market attached to them, the first room he walked by was unlocked. It wasn't very big, and was stuffed wall to wall with black file cabinets. But so far nothing was shooting anything or sounding an alarm, and he decided he might as well get done what he could before someone showed up to stop him.

Soon, he had a stack of paper files next to him, all full of people whom he vaguely recognized but not one so far that mentioned him, the serum, the KGB… he’d only found one mention so far of HYDRA in passing on a page referring to a Dr. Zola. Something about the name made him seize up, and once again found himself shaking. He tore the papers in half, scraps scattering over the tiles. Frantically he pulled blueprint after blueprint, invoices and trade agreements and contracts, tossing them to the floor and stomping on them if they fluttered back down too closely to him.

That was when he heard it; the clicking of riffles and squeaking of boots had finally reached him.

“Stand down, Winter Soldier,” one of the voices barked through a helmet

He glared and reached for his pocket.

“I said stand down Soldier!”

“I don’t want to go back. I just want information.”

 

“That’s not your choice.”

He got out five shots before being tackled to the ground. He reached around to the phone in his pocket and pressed “call” just as it too was snatched from his hands.

“Hey! What did he just do?”

The one who ordered him to stand down looked at the screen. “Oh shi-”

The detonation was deafening, the ungodly screech of twisting metal even more so. Blown back, he felt almost untouched, although half his left arm was torn clean off. He laughed, sobbing at the irony as the walls crumbled around him, and let the world fade black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long; I rewrote this chapter in it’s entirety six times. Still didn’t get it right but I kind of just gave up in frustration. The nest one will be better, pinky swear!
> 
> I would imagine that since MCU!Bucky didn’t have the luxury of getting his all his memories back at once via the Cosmic Cube like 616!Bucky, that it would be ridiculously overwhelming to him when something particularly horrible bubbled up. There are like, a thousand different conditions (many of which are sprinkled throughout my family like the nice mental disorder petri dish we are) that can cause people to get overstimulated in a similar fashion, so I based his reaction off of what I’ve seen first hand.
> 
> Bolshoe spasibo, tovarishch= Thank you very much, friend/comrade.


	3. With Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sam investigate down a Russian Hydra base in their search for Bucky who, meanwhile, has been captured by some one calling them self Red Skull.

It was nearly April, but piles of grey snow were still slowly melting on the sidewalks he and Steve walked by. He was actually surprised it wasn't colder, based on what he’d always heard about Russia. He might as well still be in D.C. if it wasn’t for everything written in Cyrillic.

Sam looked at the ground and kicked a pebble around with his shoe. Anything to avoid Steve’s face, which could only possibly look more heartbroken if he burst into tears.

An older woman walked slowly towards them waving, wearing a uniform of some government agency he couldn’t even pretend to identify. Steve’s face did a 180 and threw on the same smile Sam had seen in pictures as a kid. The kind of smile sleep deprived store clerks put on, he thought.

“Thank you so much for this Mrs. Veselovsky,” he said as she pushed a keyring into the padlock on the gate in front of them.

“It is the least I can do. I would not be here on this earth if it was not for you, Captain. This is but a small favor. Just re-lock the gate for me when you are done, yes?”

“Of course.” He took her hand a placed a quick kiss. She blushed and giggled like a woman half her age, and waved them off again as they head into the property.

“Wow, you sure have a way with the ladies, don’t you,” he teased. Steve smiled embarrassed.

“I saved her father’s life, supposedly.”

“Did you really?”

“No. She said he told her it was during the Battle of Saipan, but as the Commandos we never got that far east. It’s alright though; she’s actually not the first person who has told me something like that.”

Sam whistled. “I wonder how many people’s old war stories involve you, huh?”

“Yeah, apparently the serum also gave me the ability to teleport,” he joked as he wrenched open a rusting red door.

It was an imposing two story building with off-color glass in the window panes and eroded brick that looked a hundred years old at least. Inside was considerably more modern than the exterior but, unsurprisingly, was empty except for a few pieces of furniture and crumpled papers left behind, and machinery bolted to the floor. Steve’s face fell back to that heartbroken look again, and Sam gently cupped his shoulder.

“You okay man?”

“Yeah… I guess I just got a little too optimistic for a minute there,” he sighed.

“They definitely figured _someone_ was coming. Maybe they got sloppy. Won’t hurt to check.”

The wide open main room had nothing, and each of the six rooms to either side too were left with nothing but suspicious stains and old wiring that had been ripped from the wall. The top floor, which was mostly visible over the railing from the ground floor, reeked of bleach, and had been scrubbed so hard that the wall paint was noticeably thinner is some spots.

“What do you think these pipes were for?” he shouted.

Sam walked back over to Steve, under the top floor landing, who was pointing to chrome plated pipes leaking a thick ooze onto the concrete floor.

“Whatever the hell they were pumping sure wasn't water,” said Sam, tentatively wiping some up with his gloves and sniffing it. “At least it doesn’t smell as bad as upstairs.”

“Are you still using your water bottle?”

“Why?”

“I want to collect a sample. I think it’s all we’re going to get out of this place.”

* * *

He woke up screaming with a raw throat. When the sounds wouldn’t come out any longer, his body forced out a thick, raspy cough that left blood and spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth. Some simply drained back down, stinging the lining of his esophagus and choking him. Trying to sit up, the people above shoved him onto the table.

“He’s awake again, get more anesthesia.”

“Can’t, he smashed the machinery. We’re still waiting for replacements.”

“Then get some restraints and chloroform! I can’t work like this.”

“STEVE! Oh God Steve, please. Please Steve don’t let them do it again. Please come find me. Steve please! I’ll do anything!” he begged, a barely comprehensible gargle under the blood pooling in his mouth.

“Jesus, he’s going to aspirate. You, get me a tracheal tube. You, hold his head down.”

A solid shadow blocked out the harsh light above him. He breathed faster.

_< Calm down soldier. You are confused right now. We are trying to fix you.>_

__

_< No, no thats what they said last time. You stripped me away.>_

It was becoming hard to breathe anyway, and didn’t he have the energy to fight the tube being forced down his airway.

_< Try to stay still. This will hurt.>_

__

His right wrist and ankles were strapped to the table. His clothes, cut away in strips soaked with blood and tossed into a pile in the corner were an anomaly in the stark white room, a stain in his periphery. Escaping, assuming he could even tear away from the wires and tubes inside him would mean running away naked. There’s no way he wouldn’t end up apprehended by someone like that.

_< One… two… three.>_

Bucky screamed. Tried to scream. The tube made it hard, and for a moment everything was bright and dizzy. The left side of his body was so much lighter now, and it almost felt nice, except his fingers wouldn’t respond anymore.

_< Doctor, we have more anesthesia.>_

__

_< Good. We’ve taken the weapon off this time. Everyone re-prep for surgery.>_

Sleep couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

“Maybe coming here was a waste of time.”

“Dude, we had to start somewhere. One of Hydra’s old stomping grounds was as good a place as any. Now quit worrying and eat. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been losing weight.”

“Is it that noticeable?”

He shoved his fries at Steve who frowned and slowly picked at the plate, mostly moving things around than actually consuming. Sam looked at his phone, then back to Steve with a knowing smirk.

“What?”

He set the phone down still smiling. “Back in Afghanistan, it wasn't just U.S., troops you know? We actually ended up working with a British unit, real nice guys.”

“Uh huh.”

“Pay attention Cap, this storytime is important,” he said leaning back in the booth. “So there was this one guy, Joey Chapman right? His wife Jacqueline is some government bigwig back in England, and a visiting diplomat gave her a nylon suit, like the kind they use for green screen actors, except it had a Union Flag design, as a gag gift. Well then she in turn shipped it out to him in a care package.

Anyway, long story short, we have pictures of him in the suit and his nickname has been “Union Jack” ever since. I’ve kept in touch with him and Jackie, and sent them Bucky’s picture, just in case. Well, guess what?”

Steve perked his head up, and Sam held out his phone. On the screen was a black and white surveillance photo of tired looking man handing a short woman in a business suit her purse. It was zoomed out, but no mistaking who it was.

“Buck…”

“Call up Stark and tell him we need a flight to London, stat.”

* * *

“The Winter Soldier. I cannot _believe_ we have not met until today.”

The room was a haze of white and bright pastel colors. As his vision focused he saw who the voice belonged to; she was young, mid-thirties at the absolute most. Neatly kept auburn hair, a thin, shapely body, a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks and shoulders... Bucky thought she might have been attractive if it weren’t for the hideous stretch lips that he guessed was meant to be her smile.

He looked down to see himself dressing in a hospital gown. They were definitely not in a hospital though; it looked like an expensive clinic in some high class office building, if the view from the floor to ceiling tinted windows were any indication.

“My name is Sinthea Shmidt, and it is a _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance,” she offered, extending her hand.

Out of pure, groggy muscle memory he made a motion to return the gesture, followed the by clank of metal against metal.

“Oops! I’m sorry we had to use cuffs. And take off your other arm. During your emergency surgery I was told you were in a state of confusion and rather erratic, to say the least,” she giggled. Bucky’s hair stood on end.

“Why am I here,” he groaned, already dreading the answer.

“Soldier, you have been off the grid for over three weeks, and in your fugue state you damaged a very important storage facility. But now, you are home. This has happened before, you know, on your _last_ last mission in America. But it’s alright. Like before, we’ve got doctors here to fix you, you can take a nice break in cryo, and you’ll back on missions in no time! Things have been awfully busy lately. We’ve got a lot of work for you."

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I don't think want to do that anymore. Please...”

She blinked a couple times, smile not fading, and backhanded him squarely on a large purple bruise sitting on his right cheek. He let out a small yelp.

“That’s fine, because you won’t be doing **anything** at all for a least a couple weeks. I need you to get better before we anything else. But don’t worry, you won’t be alone. Your roommate is someone you already know.

She got up and walked to the other side of the room where she  pulled back the curtain. From her threatening tone he half expected to see a bruised and bloody Steve on the other side. Instead, grotesquely burned, nearly hairless, and very angry looking man glared at him from the other side of the room.

“Mr. Rumlow, once fully recovered, will be your immediate superior, second in command only to me. Understood?”

“That depends. Who are you?” he slurred, the drugs in his system weighing heavily on his eyes.

She grinned wider, showing off her teeth that sent a jolt of fear down his spine, like looking into the jaws of bear. “I am the new Red Skull, leader of Hydra.”

Brock scoffed. “Sin, don’t indulge his stupid questions.”

“Shut up Brock! Personally, I like reminding people that Pierce is finally gone. I thought that geezer would never croak.”

“All you had to do was ask, babe. I’d have done it,” he soothed, reaching out to stroke her hand.

“We will talk about this later,” she hissed. With the click of her boots, she turned and left through the door.

He laid in the hospital bed for several minutes listening only to the steady beeping of the heart monitor, acutely aware of Rumlow’s gaze.

“You know, I always thought Pierce was a callous bastard with all he did to you, but now I see it was the only thing keeping you from going off the fucking rails,” he growled. “By the time I’m done with you, you ain’t going to remember how to even eat by yourself. This whole mess is your fault. One look at your old fuck buddy and suddenly you can’t aim a damn gun?”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He supposed that should have scared him but maybe, in the end, wasn't this what he wanted? Everyday was a struggle, and it would be so easy to sink back and let someone else take control. He was only disappointed it wasn't Steve.

* * *

He had been hesitant about calling Stark especially since they’d used a regular airline to get to Moscow in the first place.

He will never make that mistake again.

Steve had hardly gotten the words out of his mouth when Tony chimed in excitedly that he’d already called in a favor to have a plane on stand-by for them, just in case, and that had he not been dragged away by Rhodey ( _you need to square things off with the CIA before they kicking down your door, Tony! Every S.H.I.E.L.D affiliate has to, don’t make me get my armor_ ) he probably would have followed them there himself ( _Pepper is away doing business stuff with Hill now and I’m so bored Cap, you don’t even know_ ).

They had made it to London the same day Sam’s friend had texted them the picture, and as exhausted as they both were, he had insisted to Steve that they ask around while the lead was still hot, who was only too happy to comply.

“Excuse me ma’am, have you seen this man?”

The waitress craned her neck to see the photo over the pile of dishes she was carrying.

“Oh, yes! Yes, I did, just a couple days ago. He insisted on sitting in that corner booth over there,” she exclaimed, pointing to the the table near the side door exit. She set the tray down and dusted off her apron. “He was real jittery, you know? His voice sounded really _generically_ American, but then these Russian word would slip in now and then and I’d have to make him repeat his order. And then I yelled at him for not eating because he looked like he hadn’t eaten in- oh my god, I’m not being sued for that am I?” she asked breathlessly.

Sam waved his hands. “No! No, nothing like that. He’s a just a friend who needs help, that’s all. We’re trying to find him. Do you know where he went afterwards?”

She exhaled, relieved. “Well um, he went out the side door, which only leads to the ally unless you’ve got a key to the gate, so wherever that leads out to, I guess.”

Steve sighed in frustration, but gave the girl his award winning smile anyway. “Thanks for your help. You mind if we…?”

“Oh! No, go ahead, the fire alarm bar doesn't even work anymore,” she sputtered. “I…Shit,  I probably shouldn't have said that.”

* * *

“Sharon?”

“Steve, is that you?”

“Um, yeah. Sorry to call so early at-” he looked at Sam.

“Seven.”

“Seven in the morning.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I‘ve been meaning to call you, actually. I never really got around to apologizing for the whole ‘Nurse Kate’ thing.”

“It’s okay, you were doing your job.”

She gave a half hearted laugh. “Yeah. Well for so early, I guess this isn’t just a social call, is it.”

“No, sorry. I guess I’ll get the point. You know of the whole ‘Winter Soldier’ deal, right?”

“I’m aware of it, vaguely.”

“Well a friend and I are trying to track him down, and we could use your help. We’ve been in London for-” he looked at Sam again.

“Two days,” Sam sighed.

“Two days and we’re running out of people to turn to.”

“What? Steve, you can’t just…” she held the phone away and took a deep breath. “This isn’t for S.H.I.E.L.D, is it? S.H.I.E.L.D has been labeled a terrorist organization until who knows when. You could get arrested.”

“No, it’s personal.”

“Oh god, that sounds even worse.”

“No! No, he was… is a friend of mine. I’m trying to help him.”

Steve heard her gasp on the other end of the phone. “It’s not Barnes, is it?”

“Wai- How did you know that?”

“Well I-I mean you said old friend and from what my aunt told me growing up, it makes sense. When the SSR got ahold of Zola, they they wanted to know about what happened to the POWs you released, or rather, the ones who never made it back. He said they were testing out their own versions of the serum on the prisoners, and that they got pretty close at one point. Barnes was the only who got out alive, and that’s from all of Hydra’s camps. The only one out of hundreds of trials, Steve.”

He felt sick, and had to swallow the bile quickly climbing his throat. “Christ… um, okay. Do you know, has anyone organized any of the data Romanov leaked? I need to know about any Hydra hideouts or safehouses in the U.K. Sorry, I know that’s a lot to ask.”

There was rustling on the other end. “If that’s your question, I actually have the answer, and there’s good news and bad news.

The thing is, Black Widow dumped everything but she didn’t dump _everything_ , you know?”

“Uh… no?”

“She leaked everything on S.H.E.I.L.D’s main servers, don’t get me wrong, but we were a multinational organization, Steve. There are still hundreds of terabytes worth of information in other countries where regional specific data was compartmentalized, and that’s not even counting the separate servers Hydra had. To top it all off, that still doesn’t include third-party affiliations like Stark Industries.”

“Jesus.”

“But, the good news is that it probably means Sergeant Barnes hasn’t left the city. He might be looking for the same unreleased information we are. I’ll send you a list of ou- S.H.I.E.L.D’s affiliates around London. That should help a little, I hope.”

“Thank you so much Sharon. I can’t even begin to repay you.”

“I’ll make you buy me a really big cup of coffee. And call back soon, okay? I want to know you two are alright.”

“Deal. Talk to you soon.”

* * *

He dreamt of a young girl, hair as vibrant as a red poppy. He dreamt of worn out ballet slippers and chalk dust swirling under a spotlight. Not even a decade old, she was smarter than the men who had unfrozen him and given him the task of training the girl. She was a better fighter than those three times her age he was meant to train as well. Bucky dreamt of a young girl with a face as red as her hair (from tears or anger or embarrassment he did not know) watching as the glass fogged over and the world became quiet.

He dreamt of this and woke up with the image of a young woman, with the man from bridge and man with wings and the back of his eyelids. He looked over, and saw an entirely different red headed woman, although it would be a lie to say his heart didn’t skipped a beat for a second.

“...and let you do the honor of snapping his neck personally,” she continued casually, filing her nails, faced towards the other man in the room. “And once we get that done, it won’t be too hard to lure Strucker out of whatever rat’s hole he’s crawled into.”

Brock looked her in utter adoration, and motioned for her to bend down. He planted a very loud and wet kiss on her lips.

“I missed you real bad, Sin,” he said, caressing her arm.

She relaxed to the touch for only a moment, then rolled her eyes and tutted. “Who said I want you back, huh? No direct contact in three years, next I have to smuggle your ugly mug outta the country.”

“Looks like you’re going to have to stay pretty enough for the both of us.”

“Oh shut up. I need to go and get ready. When you’re dressed take care of the asset, and make sure they drug him up plenty. We don’t need any mishaps.”

Once again she turned on heels of her boots to leave, this time letting her hand linger on Rumlow’s shoulder as she left.

He got up from the bed, and Bucky caught a glimpse of him, naked except for underwear, hospital gown tossed on the ground. Bucky scarcely remembered him from before, just that he was present when he got his orders to kill Fury, and again when the strike team dragged him back to the bank vault after failing to kill Steve and his companions (he hardly remembered Peirce and those who held his position before him; handlers come and go in the blink of an eye, after all). Now, he had burn scars all up and down him arms, face, and chest, save for a large X shape of healthy skin across his torso.

Another memory crept up on him, of painfully (but not regrettingly) shelling out half a dollar to see some pirate movie with Steve. He thinks he was sitting with Steve, anyway. He seemed awfully small.

“Keep staring and we’re going to start your reprogramming right now,” Rumlow snarled.

Bucky stop looking, but didn’t turn his head. He wondered if it was worth the effort to try and escape. He didn’t even know if they were still in London or not, or where his arm was, or even the date. He didn’t see the fist coming until it made contact with his face, and decided after that moment he would just stay put.

Brock unlocked the cuffs, yanked Bucky up by the collar, and gave another solid yet more awkwardly executed punch in the same spot. He could feel the skin around the eye swelling already. Rumlow dropped him the the floor and ordered him to get dressed, nodding towards a neatly folded stack on a table next to his bed.

“You’ve got two minutes to meet me out in the hall. Nothing funny either, or you’ll lose your other arm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: What are Sin and Crossbones up to? Can our heroes rescue Bucky in time? *dramatic music* Tune in whenever the next update is to find out! Ahhhhhh!
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr and wish me a [ happy birthday. ](http://hjbaltimore.tumblr.com/)
> 
> \---
> 
> And as promised, character notes:
> 
> Sinthea “Sin” Shmidt\- In the comics, she’s Red Skull’s daughter. Yeah, I know right? He was hoping for a son but got Sin instead. So naturally she had some pretty bad daddy issues, right up until she said “fuck it, I don’t need this”, stole some Asgardian hammer thingy, tried to take over the world blah blah blah Ragnarok blah blah blah Thor died but not really blah blah. For the MCU, I imagine if (when) she shows up she’d either be Red Skull’s granddaughter, or his his daughter via in vitro and frozen sperm and whatnot. She’s pretty much Marvel’s Harley Quinn, except a little more unhinged with a dumber boyfriend.
> 
> Crossbones\- aka Brock Rumlow. A dumbass mercenary and Red Skull lackey. The MCU is far kinder to Rumlow than the comics, in where he looks like Bane and had pretty much no redeeming qualities.
> 
> Joseph “Joey” Chapman\- aka the 3rd Union Jack, aka the British Captain America.
> 
> Jacqueline “Jackie” Falsworth\- aka Spitfire. She’s got a bunch of vampires in her family.
> 
>  
> 
> If I missed anyone else, I probably have their description [ here in part one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1918554#work_endnotes).


	4. Just for the Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Steve are hot on the trail of Hydra's secret London cell, only to be captured by Crossbones and his goons. Bucky struggles to break through the years of brainwashing.

“So that sample you sent over? I only took half an hour to figure out what it was,” she said over the phone.

“I guess that’s fast,” he whispered to Sam, who shrugged in return.

“I didn’t even have to get it analyzed completely. It was about a third done when the compounds matched ones from the leaked S.H.I.E.L.D data. It’s some kind of preservative?”

“You don’t sound too sure…”

“It wasn't a full file. It was like, an abstract sent to someone in an email. I’ll forward the whole thing to you in just a minute when full test is done.”

“You are amazing, Sharron.”

“Are you sure you guys don't need me over there? I can take a break for a couple days if I need to. Hell I could probably get it as a write off. Say I need to go look for connections in that bombing from the other day or something.”

“Wait. What? Bombing?”

She sighed. “Haven’t you guys taken a break at _all_ to watch the news? It was a small bombing three days ago at property owned by…” she whistled, shifting through her computer tabs, “Occult Armaments. You and Sam were right there in London when it happened. I can’t believe you didn’t see it.”

“That place sounds familiar.”

“It was on the list I sent you. They’re weapons dealers, almost exclusively international imports. The sold a lot of Stark stuff, so S.H.I.E.L.D kept an eye on them.”

“But Steve and I just went there two days when going down the list. They weren’t bombed out.” Sam said, now standing around Steve’s phone.

“It wasn't their headquarters, it was their old building. They used it for storage, mostly. It was labeled it a terrorist act. You think it’s got something to do with Hydra?”

“Honestly, they seemed pretty harmless, but it’s too big of a coincidence to ignore now. We'll head over first thing in then morning.”

“Okay screw it, I’m going to see if I can get over there with you guys.”

 

“I thought you said you were benched!”

“The CIA benched anyone involved with S.H.I.E.L.D, Steve. They don’t trust any of us for more than paperwork right now. I’m practically getting bed sores. I’ll be there by noon, so don’t get into any trouble.”

* * *

They didn’t give him shoes, or socks for that matter. Or even a shirt. A pair of simple cotton sweatpants and briefs were all Rumlow had thrown at him before someone came from behind and stuck a needle through his shoulder.

They hadn’t used restraints, but three other men in combat gear had joined them, walking behind Bucky and clinging tight to their weapons. The thud of boot heels and the slap of his bare feet against the tile pounded in his ear, and every couple yards he needed to stop, only to be either kicked or nudged by the butt of AK-47 into continuing.

The room itself was bare, and as he padded in his eyes locked on the only notable object in the room; a chair of some connected to equipment of some sort that set off dull alarm bells in the recesses of his mind.

“Restart him,” murmured someone in the room. It felt like being underwater now, and all sounds were heavy and muted.

“Total wipe?”

“Like you would if he were fresh out of cryo, and then some.”

“Alright, give us a couple minutes to get the settings adjusted.”

He was shoved into the chair, and immediately his remaining arm was automatically restrained by the machine. The red haired woman from before had appeared, and now sat next to him. She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her.

“I’ve heard stories, even seen videos of you in action not twenty years ago. You almost seemed like a real person,” her nails scraped at his cheek, “Now you are, what? A child? Or perhaps a puppet,” she mused.

Bucky’s breathing increased. “Will I still remember him?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Steve Rogers, I think. He kept mumbling about that idiot in his sleep,” Brock interjected.

Sin laughed, and all the blood drained from Bucky’s face. “We will certainly test that when he gets here.”

“We’re ready Miss Shmidt.”

“Good. Someone get a nice, solid gag. He’s going to need it.”

* * *

Sam glared at his phone, the bane of his very existence.  It was the third time it had rung in the past two minutes, yet Steve had managed to remain blissfully unaware through each one. Wasn't being a light sleeper something that should have developed in all his years at war?

Finally, he picked the stupid thing up, just to see who it was. It wasn't a number he recognized, but these days that didn’t mean damn thing.

“Sam Wilson. This better be good.”

“Mr. Wilson, this is Erica Holstein of the Occult Armaments Company. I apologize for calling, but it’s rather urgent and we haven’t been able to locate a working number for Mr. Rogers. Would you happen to know his whereabouts? He have some information he may be interested in.”

“Yeah yeah, just give me a message I’ll pass it on.” _It’s 4:37 am, it sure as hell **better** be interesting._

__

He flopped back down on the hotel bed. It was at least ten times worse than the one at home, and he thought mournfully that he would never complain about it being too soft again. On the other hand, neither of them had gotten much sleep since they left the States, and Steve was ready to collapse against a brick wall if he hadn’t dragged the big lug up and practically pushed him into the lobby.

“I’m not sure if you are aware, but our company is- I mean, was a subcontractor for custom weapons design…”

“Ma’am I’m sorry, but I’m running on fumes here, please get to the point.”

She cleared her throat. “I believe we may have custody of a mister Sgt. Barnes? He was caught by our security carrying explosive material at our headquarters a couple hours ago. We were going to contact the authorities but it is to our understanding you and Mr. Rogers might prefer to see him before INTERPOL does…”

“What? Oh my god yes, yeah. What was the address? Yes, thank you. We will be there in half an hour.”

Steve groggily peeled himself away from the sheets. “What was that?”

“Some lady from that company that got bombed just said they caught Bucky breaking into their other property. Your boy couldn’t wait ‘til morning, I guess,” he joked bitterly with a yawn.

Steve blinked wearily at first, then puzzled. “Wait, how’d they get our number?”

Sam stop pulling his shoe on and looked at the floor, and then to the phone still laying on his bed. “I… don’t know.”

Steve jumped up from his bed and ran to the balcony door, ripping back the curtains. Though still dark, there were more than enough lights at street level to see three large unmarked vans sloppily parked at the hotel entrance. He felt ready to go tearing off over the railing and run, and had to force himself to turn back to Sam.

“We need to go. Now.”

“You think they’re here for us?”

“They’re already in the _building_.”

“Shit!”

“Do you think you can make a two story drop?”

“Not with any confidence.”

“I don’t think we’ve got much of a choice.”

 

“Well _in that case_ , yes. Lets go.”

Steve pulled back the curtains again, and immediately regretted it.

“You are too predictable, Rogers.”

The front door to the room swung open, and no less than twelve men filed in, guns aimed to kill. Steve turned back to the balcony, with four others staring in front of the open sliding doors.

“Rumlow?”

The man smiled. His skin was a painful shade of pink, the skin grotesquely twisted and stretched over his face like rubber.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Why don’t you ask your friend there?” he said, nodding to Sam. “I actually look quite a bit better than I should, to be fair. It seems the Hydra’s science team has been busy looking for alternates to your serum and well… this give me a temporary healing boost, anyway.”

Steve backed up closer to Sam. “What do you want.”

Brock held his hands up in mock surrender. “My new boss would love it if you would come in to help us with a few problems.”

“And if we refuse?” Sam snarled.

“Besides shooting you both in the head?” he grinned. “You know honestly, I was looking at a friend of yours the other day… long hair, metal arm, a few memory problems? And I thought to myself, “does he need all those teeth? Or that tongue of his? Assassins don’t need all that, really.’”

“I’d ask if you were serious, but knowing what kind of a maniac you are now-”

Rumlow pulled out a glock and aimed it at him. “You could probably survive a point blank shot, but I’m sure it will still hurt like hell, Rogers. I’m offering a you a chance to find what you’ve been looking for for over a month now. You can come quietly, or you can come kicking and screaming with a few extra holes in your body.” His finger hovered over the trigger like he was waiting for them to so much as twitch wrong.

Steve put his hands up. “Fine, I’ll come along.”

“Excelent. What about you, Wilson? We are really are only required to bring in Mr. Superhero here.”

Sam slowly raised his hand wordlessly, burning holes into Rumlow’s head with his glare.

“Perfect. Let’s get moving , everyone!”

* * *

Bucky was slumped in strange chair, his skin sweaty and sticking to the plastic padding. He could feel a bruise forming over his right bicep. He went to flex his left, though it refused to respond.

“I think he’s trying to say something.”

A thick rubber black was wedged out out from between his teeth, spit spilling over his chin. No one gave him the dignity of wiping it up. His vision was blurry and dark at the edges, unable to focus.

Tunnel vision says something in the back of his mind. He licked his lips and tried to push the words out.

_< I am malfunctioning.>_

“What did he say?”

“I dunno, I don’t speak Russian.”

“Does anyone here speak Russian?”

“Just make him speak in English. He knows eight different languages for fuck’s sake.”

“Speak in English, Soldier.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes open and shut, trying to concentrate. “I am… working… not well.”

“What do you mean?”

He tried to move his left arm again. “Prosthetic not responding.”

The woman in front of him, wearing a face mask and medical gloves, scribbled something down on the clipboard in front of her. “That is because we removed it.”

A man in similar attire brushed past her and began to unhook him.

“I need to… do mission,” he struggled.

“There is no mission right now. You are recovering from a severe bout of delusions that caused you to run away.”

“Delusions?”

“Untrue beliefs that rendered you unable to complete your previous mission.”

“I also have pain in…” he struggled with the words and resorted to simply pointing to his abdomen. “Here.”

“That was from your surgery after the explosion. Now stop speaking unless you are spoken to first.”

Unbound, he hunched over and watched with curiosity at the people shuffling around. The same lady with the clipboard now held a small light to his eyes and told him to follow it. He tried, but the world seemed to jitter around him.

“Uh oh,” she announced, more annoyance than concern in her voice.

“What?”

“They fucking overdid it on the sedatives again.”

“He won’t be any use to us if they keep screwing up like this. What good is a brain damaged sniper?”

“Psh. You say that like he isn’t already.”

“He just needs a couple months free to just sit around and let the serum do it’s work. Rebuild some neural connections.”

“Yeah, you can try bringing that up. I’m just going to stay here and be quiet and do my job.”

He sat still and and let the other hover around him, poking and prodding and writing things down, when the large door on the opposite side of the lab slid open. A vaguely familiar man strode in, leading several others, plus two men in the middle of the crowd that did not share the uniform that the ones with guns had.

“Where’s Sin?”

“In her office. Um, hey! We’re not done here!”

Rumlow motioned to two of his team, and they each grabbed one side of Bucky and hauled him up on his feet that shook heavily, threatening to give out if either person let go. The non-uniformed men watch him in horror. For some reason, he suddenly felt self conscious about the scrapes and cuts and yellow and purple bruises mapping his skin.

“Bucky...”

He didn’t recognize the name, but the white man was looking straight at him when he said it. He wanted to respond with something ( _Steve?_ ) but was quickly silenced by an irritated grunt.

“Let me talk to him, Brock.”

“You need to have a little chat with someone else first. Ah! Here she is now.”

A red haired woman entered through a different door, with a face of pure smugness that prickled the back of Bucky’s neck.

“Incredible,” she exclaimed with a slight German accent slipping in and out of her speech. “Steve Rogers; Captain America himself. And his friend! What an unexpected bonus. My name is Sinthea Shmidt, and we will be seeing a lot of each other from now on.”

Steve’s jaw clicked, his muscles seized up.

“I understand you have a great emotion investment in our favorite employee here.The question now is, what are you willing to do in return for his… lets call it safety.”

“I can put in a good word with the police when they arrest you?”

“I was going to say ‘surrender quietly’ and I won’t kill him.”

One of the men holding Bucky up kneed him in the gut, and he heaved up vomit consisting mostly of blood.

“Stop! Fine, I’ll go with you.”

“Good. Show the Captain to the lab, and shoot the other one,” Sin ordered. She waved her hand nonchalantly and one of the guards cocked his gun, aiming straight a Sam’s head.

“WAIT!”

He startled the guard, who ended up shooting the floor just an inch to the left.

“I’m not keeping the spare.”

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because, he’s got the serum too.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Steve!”

“Shut up. We couldn’t keep it a secret forever. Might as well let it loose now if it’ll keep you from being killed.”

“I don’t believe you,” she hissed.

“It’s true. It was the only way I’ll be able to retire, so I restarted the research into Eskine’s formula.”

“There is no you’ve accomplished in two years what scientists have been trying for nearly a century.”

“It’s a hell of a lot easier when you’ve got the only living sample of the original formula,” he smirked. “And unlike mine, this will work on anyone, without side effects like Red Skull had. You kill him, you loose the only sample for it.”

She froze for a minute, anger twisting on her face, until she finally spit out, “Fine. Take Mr. Wilson to the lab _first_. And when you’ve confirmed that Captain Roger’s claim is as ridiculous as it sounds, kill Mr. Wilson and relieve Roger’s of his feet and hands. He won’t be needing them for the foreseeable future.”

“Sin, what about him?” Brock asked, jerking his head towards Bucky, who had just barely regained consciousness.

“Get him cleaned up. I need to perform a small test.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry _again_ this took so long. I feel like I can never do poor Sam justice. He keeps getting pushed into the background. Good news is the next (maybe next next) chapter has him as the bamf he is soooo yeh
> 
> Next chapter: Sharon Carter to the rescue! Emotional reunions! Grown men crying! Fighting bad guys with one arm! Angst! Rumlow gets his stupid looking Crossbones outfit! Yay!


	5. Four Letter Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the mercy of Red Skull, Steve tries to jog Bucky's memory the best he can. In the mean time, Sam makes his escape, and Sharon tries to figure out the least deadly way to save her boys.

The way his heart was pounding, Sam was sure he would collapse and die from that before Hydra could pull the trigger.

 

They clearly didn’t really believe Steve’s story about the extra serum research. He had only three guards escorting him to their lab, as opposed to Steve who, despite claiming to cooperate, had dragged his heels as ten people struggled to wrestle him out of the room where Bucky was.

 

“So, what are the chances of you guys letting me go?”

 

“Pretty much zero, unless you had enough money to double my salary,” one replied, to Sam’s surprise.

 

He laughed nervously. “You know, I personally know Tony Stark. Have my own suite at his tower in New York. Couldn’t pay your salary but I could get you something pretty sweet instead,” he offered hopefully.

 

The guy snorted. “Sorry, I don’t make career choices based on the unverifiable claims of prisoners.”

 

“Don’t you even care how illegal this is?”

 

“Not particularly.”

 

The lab surrounded entirely by glass walls, and pristinely white like they had just stepped into a cliche sci-fi movie. He was no doctor, but many of the instruments looked familiar; he could probably guess the functions of most of the equipment. Sam felt cheated, like it should have looked more like a super villain's lair. Instead, he was going to be killed in the equivalent of a medical insurance office.

 

“Goddamnit, where did they go now?”

 

“Maybe they’re on lunch break?”

 

“It’s 9:47 in the fucking morning!”

 

The guard on his left sighed. “I’ll go find them. They’re probably on the roof again…”

 

“What? Why would they be there?”

 

“Well, last time they were sharing a blunt.”

 

“The hell kind of doctors is Shmidt hiring?”

 

“I’ll be back in a few,” he huffed retreating into the elevator.

 

Sam’s heart started beating out of his chest again, but not out of panic. He slammed the bigger of the two into the corner they had just rounded, shoving at him with his shoulder until he heard a crack and the man cried out, falling to the ground.

 

“You stupid-”

 

His hands were cuffed with the same kind as back in D.C., but kicked with as much force as he could muster into the other man’s knee, and then again to the groin when the gun fell to the ground with a clatter. He laid on the writhing in pain. Sam lifted his foot and slammed back down on the the same knee and it broke with an even louder crack than the other guard’s back.

 

“Sorry man, it’s not personal,” he apologized half heartedly. Neither seemed to have the key on them. He twisted his body around until his arms were back in front of him. Without another second of hesitation, he made a break for the stairwell.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had been at least a half hour, and Steve’s knuckles had already healed from smashing at the ground of his cell when he’d first been thrown in, though dried blood was still smeared against the shattered tile.

 

He was so close. Weeks on his own. He was getting better. He remembered me. Hell, he stopped a purse snatcher...Jesus, Sam could be dead by now…

 

Steve looked around. It wasn't a cell so much as it was an observation or interrogation room with a two-way bullet proof window (or at least, fist proofed), a reinforced steel door (also fist proofed), and a piss trough and sink tucked away in the corner, like they’d only just been added to the room. Whatever the company was actually doing, it certainly was not limited to weapon imports.

 

The door groaned as it swung open, revealing a very tired, malnourished, but cleaner looking Bucky Barnes, who was unceremoniously shoved into the cell with Steve.

 

“Bucky! Are you okay?”

 

He moved towards Bucky, who in turn retreated back a few steps, tensing up with a look of suspicion.

 

“Bucky please- I just want to help. Can I touch you?” he asked, slowly inching forward.

 

The other man tilted his head. He parted his lips as though to say something and shut them tight, catching a glimpse of the two way mirror.

 

Steve slowly reached for him, barely making contact with the flesh arm, but he could feel the heat radiating from the Steve’s body. Bucky watched curiously, as though being approached by a timid animal, or perhaps vice versa. He didn’t try to stop it when his hand was engulfed by others, nor when a head fell onto his shoulder and quietly spilled warm tears that soaked through his thin shirt. He itched to return the gesture, but instead held himself as rigidly as possible to squash the impulse.

 

No orders had been given, just warnings about the man inside. There was something important though, about him.

 

“Buck, come on. Say something. Anything. I’m Steve Rogers. You’re James Barnes, but everyone called you Bucky. Do you remember that?”

 

A small pang in the pit of his stomach spread to chest. It ached, made his muscles spasm and mouth water.

 

“Bucky, stay with me okay? We’re going to get out, alright?”

 

He didn’t attack people who weren’t targets unless they threatened him, but with each word that left Roger’s mouth Bucky need to move, do anything to release the pent up energy twisting into a need to do something with this person in front of him.

 

“Shut up!” he screamed, clenching his fist. “Shut up! Stop talking!”

 

He took a swing anyway. He didn’t want to. Something had to be done, and the proper action, the one he desperately wanted, was lost.

 

He got a few good punches and kicks in before being pinned to the ground, almost gently, if it could be called that. At any rate, Rogers certainly did not look happy about it. A flurry of pangs in his chest and head forced out a small cry that was ultimately ignored.

 

“I can’t let you kill me Bucky. You can fight it, I know you can. Sam and I have been looking for you for a month now, and you spent it all on your own. None of this is your fault.”

 

“Please don’t let them take you from me again,” he continued, voice breaking. He gulped loudly; a sad, nervous laugh caught the sob in his throat.

 

Bucky stops moving. The texture of the hands, the weight of the body, the pitch of the voice- it feels comfortable, familiar. He thinks he would like it better, though, if Rogers would stop talking. He thought of glass shattering and metal tearing, of himself near unconscious, fist curled around something utterly meaningless to him. Less than meaningless; a burden that kept him away from the real mission. Whatever that might have been.

 

“Please…”

 

Steve’s jaw clicked. “Please what?

 

“It hurts.”

 

Steve didn’t think he’d slammed into him that hard. Was it a ploy to break free? Was he extra sensitive without the arm?

 

“We’ve done this before.”

 

Steve lept off him like a jolt. Bucky closed his eyes, panting and sweating and wanting to curl up in on himself. He lifted himself off the ground, wobbling a little, falling against the wall, much to the horror of a wide eyed prisoner two feet in front of him. Steve closed the gap, tried to keep him steady, only to be violently swatted away.

 

“We were on a hellicarier-”

 

He held his head. “No…”

 

“I had to stop them from killing-”

 

He moaned in pain.

 

“And then, I fell. But you saved me, didn’t you?”

 

Bucky felt the chilly water soaked to his skin, the weight of a limp body in his left hand. A slight breeze, a small but painful limp, carefully cradling a broken limb, collapsing in the smell of musk and decaying cherry blossoms against a wall of wooden crates. But the images refused to come to mind.

 

He lowered to his knees, ready to collapse face first when a warm hand pressed against his chest. Steve sat cross legged and let Bucky fall onto him, exhausted.

 

“S’alright Buck. I guess I gotta take care of you now, huh?”

 

 

* * *

 

“Is this what you’ve been up to all these years, Sin? Installing prisons into corporate office buildings?”

 

She laughed. “They were suppose to be product test rooms. After Stark stopped producing weapons we tried dealing with Hammer and lets face it, their products were hit or miss at best. Then of course Centipede would sometimes need our help, and I was not about to let their nonsense spill out into the city.”

 

Brock scratched at some peeling skin. “How did that project turn out, anyway?”

 

“It was a waste of time, like I suspected. Especially Deathlok. Garrett ran off with what little salvageable research and has not been seen since.”

 

“Hm.” He continued scratching at his raw skin.

 

She narrowed her eyes. “If you were not interested in the answer, why did you ask?”

 

“Just making conversation, really. Anything to take my mind off that goop you keep forcing into me. Are you sure it’s even working?”

 

“It is the reason you cannot see your own charred bones right now. You must learn to be patient,” she snapped.

 

Brock leaned back, trying not to show how he winced at the pressure on his tender skin. “Alright alright. Last question, then I think you and I should take a break on your office couch together,” he suggested with a quick wink. He pointed to the two-way mirror, where Rogers could be seen talking at the Soldier. “You sure that’s a good idea, Sin?”

 

“It’s fine, just a little test. I need to see how far this infatuation with Rogers goes. He’s the only thing standing in the way of total compliance with the Winter Soldier.”

 

The volume on the speaker was low; it didn’t matter as much what they were saying as it did the Soldier’s actions. Sin slid her eyes to Rumlow leaning against the wall, holding himself stiffly.

 

“ _Liebling_ , you don’t need to try and hide it from me.”

 

“Hide what?”

 

“The treatment helped, but you do still have severe burns. In fact, while I am supervising the playdate, I want you to go to the eighteenth floor. It may look a bit silly, but the tech boys have whipped up a suit that they assured will take away most of the pain. Some sort of cooling, dust repelling blah blah blah…” she said, waving her hand.

 

“I’m not a kid, Sin. I don’t need that shit.”

 

She turned her head slowly, with an icy glare that shot fear jolting through his body. It wasn't until his feet had stumbled onto the elevator that he realized he’d even left the room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sharon didn’t even have to go into the building the know they weren't there anymore. The lack of text replies and failure to pick up the phone had been suspicious enough, and when she saw the police cars and crowd of scared guests outside in PJs and bathrobes, she knew there they were already gone. Without even stopping, she turn around to head towards OA headquarters. And then her phone rang.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Sharon?”

 

“Sam?”

 

“Oh thank god, this is my twenty-second try for your number.”

 

“Where are you guys? Did something happen.”

 

“Long story short- there is a Hydra cell here alive and well being run by a woman named Sinthea Shmidt. She’s got Steve and Barnes.”

 

She nearly drifted off the road. “Oh my go- wait, where are you?”

 

“Still in the Armaments building. All the exits are locked tight. Believe it or not I actually had to dial this with my foot. Damn proud of myself. I’m still cuffed; they’re using old STRIKE gear. They’ve got at least thirty men here and there’s no way this won’t end ugly.”

 

“Jesus, I don’t have any contacts here, and I can’t just call the police. What am I going to do?”

 

“Call-” he grunted, noisily fiddling with the cuffs, “Stark. Steve absolutely swears by the guy. He’ll know what to do. Hopefully.”

 

“Okay, I’ll do that now. Try to get to the ground floor; I brought some stuff along that should help. Be there soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky was on his knees, hands in his lap, forehead on Steve’s shoulder. They’d thrown Bucky in with him over an hour ago now, and he’d held this position for the past twenty minutes of it. He couldn’t help but wonder if his friend had gone to sleep at this point.

 

Shifting his arms a little, he dared to lean into the touch ever so slightly.

 

“Buck? You with me?”

 

“Who is Buck,” he asked groggily.

 

“That’s you, ya jerk.” Steve circled his arms around him. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, but your friends call you Bucky. Sometimes Buck for short. Remember?”

 

“You said that earlier.”

 

Steve chuckled sadly. “Yeah, I did. Though you’d already forgotten.”

 

“They said the American would try to trick me.”

 

“Do you think I am trying to trick you?”

 

“...no.”

 

It was that moment the door creaked open, where the woman, Sinthea, and one of the guards now stood.

 

“How touching this is. You have a fantastic way of screwing things up, don’t you Captain?”

 

He turned his head and glared. “Your last name is Shmidt, right? Looks like egomania runs in the family.”

 

She smiled cruelly. “What would you know about family? You don’t have one.”

 

“I know enough to recognize relation when I see it.”

 

“Isn’t that the million dollar question?”

 

“You aren’t worth that. Neither was Red Skull.”

 

She bared teeth, like a wolf staring down prey. “Watch your tone, lab rat, or the next noise you make will be accompanied by your organs being liquidized.”

 

“You need me. I’ll say whatever I want.”

 

“You have a deluded sense of self-worth, Captain. We do not need you. We do not even need your serum, although it is a lovely bonus, but certainly not worth keeping you alive over.”

 

“Then why did you hesitate when I said Sam has the serum too?”

 

“Like I said, it would be a nice bonus, and testing his blood is no inconvenience to us. But really, all it would do is maybe save us a small amount of time and money. There is little you can do that we will not be able to replicate in the next couple of decades, whether through gene therapy or…” her eyes flicked to Bucky, “inorganic enhancements. I am a very patient woman after all.”

 

“Then why keep me at all. We can end this right now,” he challenged, voice full of venom.

 

“Very cute,” she hummed. “You know, the whole reason I called you and your friend ahead of time was that in the case you escaped capture, you would come here anyway. I was actually planning on it. I gave the peons on the lower floors a paid vacation day in preparation for a fight to subdue you. It seems I shouldn’t have gone through the trouble.”

 

She whispered something into the guards ear before leaving and he nodded and pulled out a glock.

 

“Stand at attention, Soldier.”

 

There was smallest hesitation on Bucky’s part, but he stood none the less.

 

“Captain, our glorious new Red Skull has a job offer for you here at Hydra, as the Winter Soldier’s… colleague,” he grinned.

 

“So that was her end game? I though she didn’t need me.”

 

He shrugged.

 

“We don’t, but frankly I can't think of a better kind of irony, can you?”

 

“You wouldn’t be able to break me, not forever.”

 

“There are a few kinks to work out, but we solved most of them thanks to you friend’s efforts here. Watch…” He handed Bucky a gun, who held it lifelessly in his right hand hand.

 

“Winter Soldier, this is Captain Steve Rogers. Your closest friend since childhood. Maybe the love of your life,” he bated. Bucky didn’t react.

 

“You fought him on the bridge in D.C., and he broke your programming. You strayed from your masters for him.” Still nothing.

 

“Now take the gun and shoot Captain Rogers in the head.”

 

He didn’t hesitate, and after three swift clicks of the gun, Bucky stared angrily at the thing in his hand. “This one does not work. I need a new one,” he demanded, Russian accent slurring into his speech.

 

“No need. It was simply a demonstration of your loyalty. You are not ordered to kill the subject.”

 

“I need a new one,” he said a little more forcefully.

 

“No you don’t, you deaf monkey. I said-”

 

Bucky elbowed the man in the ribs and bashed his head in with the handle, blood splattering sickeningly across both him and Steve before tossing it away and helping Steve up.

 

“Bucky, oh my god.”

 

“We should leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I finished chapter 5 and it only took me like 10 days! I actually completed most of it a week ago, but kept re-writing the middle portion over and over because it just sounded so _awkward_ and _sappy_.
> 
> To anyone who's read the comics, Sinthea probably seems a little ooc, but I really wanted a genre savvy villain sooo *shrugs*
> 
> The last two chapters will be done before the month is out, so be patient with me!


	6. Things We Could Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Bucky's earliest memories after the fall causes problems for him and Steve, while Sinthea waits for her plan to come to fruition.

It didn’t take long to figure out the Russians who dragged him through the snow were not there for rescue. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the surrounding were out of place. Most of it looked familiar(ish), but many futuristic sorts of tools and equipment sat neatly on shelves and counters around the room, or built into the walls with various screens and steadily blinking lights. Then again, he vaguely remembers someone saying something about someone having head trauma, and had a sneaking suspicion it was him. Who knows what it did to his sense of time.

He groggily tried to push himself off the slab he’d been dumped on. The stump where the left arm used to be was for the most part healed, as well as whatever else had been broken or ripped off. Bucky hadn't been conscious enough while healing to take inventory of his body parts. One of the (doctors? technicians?) scientists standing nearby noticed and pushed him back down with the pencil he’d been twiddling with.

_< He no traces of the serum. Useless.>_

__

_< What about this?>_

One of the men flipped through a stack of papers and pointed to what was on it. The other sneared.

_< It is the German’s bastard formula. What are we going to do with that?>_

__

_< We went through all the trouble to get him. Shmidt and the Captain are done, this all we have left. Besides, it doesn’t look that useless to me. He’s already healed from the tests.>_

__

Bucky couldn’t tell what they were saying, but the one with the papers looked ready to start throwing punches.

The guy with the pencil shrugged. _ <We will freeze him, then. Until we have a use.>_

_< It’s going to take days to get that equipment out here!>_

__

_< You have a better idea?>_

__

It was something about their tone. Somewhere in the room, a machine beeped frantically at the thumping of his heart. They looked at him, exasperated.

_< Get him a sedative.>_

__

_<_ You _get him the sedative. >_

The one the pencil cursed at the other, and jammed the needle into Bucky’s arm.

* * *

He remembers being scared. Long ago, not so long ago. It was not something the Winter Soldier felt, and when the restraints retracted and let him fall back under his own weight, he knew there was something wrong. But he couldn’t say anything to Red Skull, or the scientists she directed on puppet strings. Because he was scared.

But he was not, despite what those around him loudly expressed, an idiot. That was something they never quite wiped away, his handler’s opinions of him. They often referred to him as a child, or a pet, citing his pliability and short temper (which were met one of two ways; with a kind of schadenfreuden amusement, or harsh punishment) as evidence.

So when he was handed the gun, he knew it wouldn’t work for him. He knew they expected him to demonstrate his loyalty by killing the only person he could never really forget, even when it threatened to compromise his missions. He also knew that despite their outward confidence, losing the Captain would deal a huge blow to the already fragile organization.

Steve had once told him that trying to do the right thing was an instinct for him. Protecting Steve was his.

They were running, hand in hand down the hall. He shouldn’t have been able, with the pain in his gut and limp in his leg, the weight of his missing prosthetic throwing off his balance- but he was running, and dragging a stunned, heavy, man behind him.

Steve yanked on his arm, and pulled them both into the first unlocked room.

“Bucky?” he asked, breathing heavily.

He fell against Steve’s shoulder, clutching at him as much as he could one armed.

“Buck-”

He slammed his palm over Steve’s mouth and dragged them both behind the desk in the cramped office they found themselves in.

There were the sounds of boots, and the frantic voices that followed them.

“We need back up! Winter Soldier is rouge!”

Bucky glared at the door, a manic look in his eye that said he was both prepared and perfectly able to kill the first person who walked by. The door handle began to move.

_< Wait here.>_

Before he could protest , Bucky had jumped back over and smashed through the thin door, crushing the unfortunate soul behind it with a snap that made Steve cringe. Wasting no time, he launched at someone (out of view for Steve) who both screamed and fired at least half a dozen shots, two of which made contact. Steve scrambled to his feet.

“Bucky stop!”

Three bodies laid at his feet, the fourth trapped under Bucky’s foot as the muzzle of a semi-automatic was being jammed through his eye socket. With one last swift kick, blood welled up and covered over the split skin. Bucky cursed in Russian and spit on the body beneath him before grasping Steve’s hand once more, carefully leading him away from massacre. It was a cold fury on a blank face, and it sent chills through Steve’s entire body. The transition to and from the Winter Soldier seemed impossibly fast, and it made him wonder if the former had truly “left” at all.

They walked down the hall ( _why did the building seem so much larger in the inside?_ ), testing doors left and right trying to find something that would open, or anything to use as a weapon. After five minutes of nothing, he began to calm down, and slowly tried to slide his fingers from Bucky’s hand. The grip tightened.

“Buck, you don’t need to lead me around. I can just follow you. I’m going to need both hands free when we come across more bad guys.”

He looked at Steve, a mix of fear and anxiety, maybe confusion as well. “You said…” he struggled to get the words out, “‘grab my hand’. Those were your last words.”

Bucky’s whole body shivered, and pushed memories to the surface of Steve’s mind of fleeting kisses in the darkness of a paper thin tent, camped out in the cold behind enemy lines. It was an unspoken rule that he and Bucky always shared a tent. And if any of the others walked in on them in each other’s embrace, nobody dared to speak out loud there might be a reason besides the temperature. There were no night terrors of doctors attempting to burning away memories that were quickly chased off with reassuring words and warm lips to a clammy forehead. There were no anxieties spilled out loud, nor obscenities spat in the same breath of how unfair life was. No two flesh hands to wrap around two other, slightly smaller, flesh hands. But most importantly, there was no urge to reenact those memories now.

“I can’t let go now. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t-”

Steven, as gently as possible, pulled Bucky towards him and placed a light kiss to his forehead. Bucky emptied the air from his lungs in one collective, relieved breath, shoulders sinking against him.

And then everything was dark.

* * *

_“Just give me like, a couple of hours,” s_ he mocked quietly to herself. _“I’m not like, a miracle worker. This is an international issue. I don’t even know who you are. You could be HYDRA trying to trick me.”_

She snipped the last wire and the building was immediately dimmed, with only a few emergency lights flickering on, barely visible through the tinted windows.

“God, what an asshole. They could be dead by then.”

Sharon threw the cutter back in pouch, trading it with a compact sort of grappling hook. Minus the hook. A ridiculously long length of wire wound tight in a black container the size of her fist. The CIA had confiscated whatever they could get their hands on out of the rubble of the Triskellion, but she was probably going to get fired for missing work to cause an international incident anyway, so what the hell? The theft of one standard S.H.I.E.L.D field ops pack from the evidence room wasn't going to make the situation any worse.  

Smashing the first window she came across, she stepped carefully over the broken glass. The lobby was immaculate and simple. It could have been any random work building, and for a second she wondered if she was even in the right place. She wrenched open the faux gold-plated elevator doors (of which there were five; who needs five elevators right next to each other?), and could hear the distant echoes of yelling in the pitch black shaft.

“Alright. Lets hope you still work…”

To her surprise, it stuck the landing on the first go. Whatever it was connected to, it held the cable taut. The small motor sputtered to life, and began crawling it’s way up.

* * *

“Red Skull?” the voice asked, surrounded by static over the transceiver.

“Yes I know. Someone cut the power to the whole premises.”

“What now?”

“We’re sure none of them left the building, yes?”

“I just got word Wilson escaped Squad Eight, but all floors below the lab are sealed off. Unless he jumped out the window or risked climbing down thirty floors worth of elevator cables...”

“Those fucking idiots. Fine. Whatever. I don’t care at this point. I’m certain the Captain has ‘escaped’ by now as well with the Winter Soldier. Send out the Sleepers, and if Wilson gets crushed in the process, it’s no skin off my nose. I never believed their stupid lie anyway.”

“And the power?”

“Contact an outside crew and search the lower floors. No one leaves this building until I’ve reigned in Rogers.”

* * *

He woke up on the same slab. Except now it was dark, and the only light came from the small porthole in the door leading to the hall, and the roaming spotlights from outside, casting shadows from the barred windows. The beams would catch chunks of snow falling from the roof and unfurling in the light wind against the starless, ugly, grey night sky.

Bucky closed his eyes. “Jesus Steve… I don’t know where I am,” he mumbled sleepily. “I don’t even know how I got here. I thought I’d be dead already from this fucking war. Instead I just got captured. Again.”

He wanted- needed to cry. He spit out low, hysterical laugh.

“Ain’t you gonna save me again Stevie? Turns out I’m about as useful as the kid they stuck in your comic books. And they damn well knew I’m older than you, too. Who knew,” he said bitterly, “it’d turn out to be so accurate after all?”

There was nothing holding him down, only an IV and heart rate monitor. Carefully, he pulled them both off, and rolled over onto his unsteady feet. The floor was frigid; he hissed as it burned his soles.

The hall was long and narrow, almost like pictures he’d seen of submarines, dozens of doors leading off of it. He smelled cigarette smoke, heard several men laughing from a room with it’s door ajar. But, more importantly, there was the exit as well, underneath a loudly buzzing,  flickering fluorescent light.

He shivered, held his arm around what was left of his other shoulder and rubbed, trying to warm himself. The question was not if he was willing to go out there barefoot and shirtless in the snow, but realistically, how far could he get before being captured again? Would it be worth it? If staying in this place was going to be anything like the HYRDA compound, there was no question. He’d rather have his stiff frozen corpse lost in the wilderness then live through that again.

As quietly as he could, the door pulled open almost effortlessly. Tears welled up as soon as the air hit his skin, but the silence of the outside ached in every part of him. Trudging through the ankle high snowfall, he noticed a slight limp in his left leg. Less than a minute and his legs were already numb. Maybe his whole body was numb, because it didn’t hurt as much as a few minutes ago. He felt sleepy, but dragged himself to the chainlink fence in the distance.

_< Oh no, the dog escaped from his cage, huh?>_

He spun around. Different men but wearing the same uniforms as the ones from before; they lowered their weapons and the one leading the other two laughed.

<You know, the reason we did not tie you down is because no one thought you’d be dumb enough to try and escape in this weather.>

He bit his lower lip and flicked his eyes to the gate just a few meters away.

_< Don’t even try that. You’ll die within the hour.>_

__

Bucky turned and sprinted, as quick as he could off balance and limping towards his goal. Best case scenario, he’d run far enough away to be rescued before succumbing to hypothermia, or would be shot in the back before he could go anywhere (he wasn’t very picky at this point). Worse case scenario was them simply out walking him, because his legs had no feeling at all now.

He stumbled.

The world was throbbing in his head, black around the edges. There was a painful grip on his arm, a hand twisted painfully in his hair, snow seeping through to every corner of his body. It seemed like less than a second, and they were already back under the buzzing light.

* * *

The sun was peeking in through the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows in the hall where they stood. Almost immediately, dull red emergency lights kicked with a piercing hum that irritated Steve’s eardrums.  

“Well at least there’s no cameras to worry about now,” he sighed, looking at the ceiling. He went to wrap his arms around Bucky who had suddenly tensed back up, but none the less stayed leaning against him.

“Steve!”

He strained his neck to see Sam spriting their way, handcuffed and bleeding, but not dead, which was more than enough. He cautiously nudged Bucky off and ran off to meet Sam halfway.

“Jesus Sam,” he breathed in disbelief, “I thought they’d killed you already.”

“Yeah well, it turns out there’s a small advantage to these ridiculous handcuff… armbinder things. Swing ‘em in the right direction and they knock people out cold.”

“Good to know,” he smiled.

“You found your boy?” he asked, nodding to Bucky, head bent, whose eyes were wide and locked on the ground, evidently uncaring as his long hair fell from his shoulder and slowly blocked his line of sight.

“I uh- in theory. Buck? You alright? He was fine a second ago.”

Slowly, he walked closer, reaching towards his friend. A hand snapped up to seize his wrist with a crushing force.

“Bucky? Buck-”, Steve tried pulling yanking away, the grip holding tighter, though Bucky still was not looking anywhere coherently. Bucky monotoned something, probably in Russian, under his breath.

Sam kicked Bucky in the stomach, garnering only only a wince in response, though he let go of Steve’s wrist, now red with the promise of an ugly bruise later. He pushed Steve behind him, and stanced himself for a fight.

“Sam! Sam, it’s fine. He’s fine.”

“No he’s not. I’m not letting _you_ let _him_ try to kill you again. Not while I’m here.”

“We can’t… we aren’t leaving him behind. You can’t ask me to do that.”

“I’m not! I just want you have some goddamn self preservation instincts. You can’t help him if you’re dead. And later? You and I are going have a talk about what happened on the helicarrier. I know you’ve been avoiding it, and that ain’t gonna fly with me.”

Steve was ready to retort, when they became bathed in a blue light. Scraping itself against the ceiling tiles, it was looked like a giant bronze bullet with four thick limbs and two glowing blue eyes. A whirring noise, like an old car echoed down the hall.

“Get back!” Steve shouted, pulling Sam and Bucky around the corner with him.

It shot a beam that barely missed their feet, instead singeing a part of the floor that promptly collapsed under it’s own weight. Slowly, clumsily, it stumbled forward.

“Bucky! Bucky come on, please snap out of it. We need to run. Do you understand?”

His eyes were unfocused and his mouth slightly agape.

“Steve, that thing is getting closer…”

Steve shook him a little. “Bucky! Bucky please snap out of it. Do you know where you are? Who you are? What that thing is?”

Bucky slowly rolled his head in the direction of the robot as though barely registering the situation. “Sleeper. Eisendorf.”

“What?”

“Prototype design four. Financially impractical for mass production or common usage. Overall stable design. Sturdy motor control, gyroscopic. Vulnerable lenses need modification for future models.”

He fell silent. Sam and Steve struggled to move him as another beam hit the wall behind them, raining down sharp as the ceiling cracked above them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY DID IT
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry this took so long; I went straight from a family vacation to the beginning of the new semester and was somewhat emotionally/mentally/physically invested in not failing. BUT, I finally managed to get some writing time in, and should have the last chapter up fairly soon after this (for real this time), including the sequel to my [spn fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2087316). Just in case you were wondering.
> 
> For your reference, I based this fic pretty heavily off [ 21st Century Blitz](http://marvel.wikia.com/Captain_America_Vol_5_18), where Steve goes to London looking for Bucky, who is on his own little revenge mission. 
> 
>   
> (thats what the Sleeper looks like, but try to imagine it small enough to fit inside a fancy office building)


	7. Left to My Own Devices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is near, and Sin realizes that being a chessmaster villain is a lot harder than the movies make it look.

“Red Skull!”

She held the heavy mess of metal and wires, delicately scratching at the red star printed into it. Lazily, she tossed it back into the side drawer of her now mostly empty desk, and picked up the transceiver. “ _Reden_.”

“The Sleeper is endangering the building’s integrity!”

“One can only dream,” she sighed to herself. “Do not worry about it. The Captain and his friends are making their way up as we speak. We will be gone long before this godforsaken place comes crashing down.”

The building rumbled. There was a knock and the door, and Sin swiveled out of her chair. “Is that you Brock?”

He stumbled in, embarrassed, holding a black mask in his hands. “Sin this is more ridiculous than you promised.”

She laughed. “Doesn’t it feel better on your skin though? Besides, I like it. Now put the mask on.”

He rolled his eyes and slipped on the mask. It was black with the picture of a skull on it, matching bones printed on the chest of his suit.

She snorted. “I love it. Now you can be the white skull to my red skull, hm?”

“A stupid name for a stupid outfit.”

“You’re right… how about Crossbones? We could tie you to the mast of a ship.” She curled up just enough of the mask to kiss him on the lips as another tremor ripped through the building.

“Once we have them secure,” she said, tone turning on a dime, “the helicopters on the roof are ready to go.”

“Where to?” he asked, pulling the mask back down.

“Austria. Faustus is very eager to begin his work. We’ve already shipped off what’s left of the weapons cache to the new headquarters. Unfortunately since the Winter Soldier decided to blow up the storage facility… well the paper files had digital copies, anyway. It’s fine. It’s all fine…” Sin began to drift, drumming her fingers angrily along the desk.

Rumlow shifted uncomfortably. “Right. Well, I’ll get the grunts moving. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

* * *

Sharon’s hands shook. There was blood splatter on her face, but she couldn't quite bring herself to wipe it away.

Did everyone’s first kill feel this way?

_I mean, maybe I’ve actually already killed others, she thought to herself. Knocked down a lot of people in DC. But holy Jesus, shooting a fucking Nazi at point blank should feel better than this, right? God, what if he was just in this for the money? Shit shit shit-_

A deep rumbling from the floor grounded her thoughts, and she tossed away the melted plastic, being all that was left of the gun: a small, one-use pistol disguised as a flashlight.

The grappling line had taken her up further than expected, only to crawl out just when a particularly beefed up guy wearing old STRIKE armor walked by. Standing on top of the elevator itself, she relaunched the the wire and tried to steady her breathing as it carried her the rest of the way up.

Nearing the top, she finally heard voices.

“...no. We have no choice but to take them with us, high or not. Get them to the helicopter. I don’t need anything slowing us down.”

Slowly, she pulled the elevator doors open.

* * *

After him dragging up several flights, Bucky finally started moving on his own, with the Sleeper not far behind.

Because of course it could walk up stairs.

The higher they went, the more clinical and sinister the rooms they passed by seemed to get. Weapons blueprints, scraps of metal, power tools, gurneys, bottles of pills and poisons, a damn _MRI machine_. Everything was suddenly half workshop and half hospital.

“We can’t keep going like this,” Sam panted. He leaned against the wall, cheats heaving dangerously fast. “Eventually we’re gonna run out of floors. Or run into more of HYDRA.”

Steve braced himself as well, though not nearly as out of breath. “I think that might have been their goal all along. As this point, we won’t have a choice but to cooperate.”

“Yeah, ‘cooperate’. You and Barnes becoming brainwashed lab rats while I gain a few extra holes in head.”

He shrugged. “Can’t escape if there’s nowhere else to go.”

The sounds of stomping had ceased. As quietly as possible, Steve looked around for a weapon. There was plenty of heavy equipment, sharp medical supplies, but nothing to take down a two ton robot.

“Well, I’ve kind of got a plan. But I’d feel more confident in it if Bucky had his arm back.”

_< My arm is right here.>_

The other two gave him a strange look. He held his right arm up and nodded to it, imitating their own confused expressions.

“No, no not that one. Your mechanical one. The metal one,” Sam tried to explain.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

“I have no… metal arm,” he fretted.

“Yeah you do, Bucky. It’s what attaches to the metal here,” Steve carefully touched his finger to it, Buck looked as though he’d just noticed it. “Try to think; they must have taken it off before they-” Steve’s face sunk, with a kind of dawning realization of horror and despondency. “-wiped your memory. God Buck. I knew because of… I mean, it’s just kind of hitting me you don’t really remember anything from the past month.”

_< I remember you.>_

“Sam do you remember where the lab was that they took you?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t see his arm. It was pretty small and I got a good look at it. I doubt it’s in there. If you ask me, it’s probably with Shmidt. If she was planning all this from the start, she'd probably want it close by to make a quick getaway right? No point in leaving it where either we could get it or would be lost.”

“Alright, forget the arm. Bucky and I will draw the Sleeper away, and you’ll follow us behind. Once we get to Shmidt, I’ll pretend to surrender until I can get close enough to take her hostage. That should get us enough leverage to get out of the building without being shot at too much. Hopefully.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “That’s your plan?”

Steve shrugged. “Unless you have something better. Please tell me you do.”

“I managed to get ahold of Sharon before the power went out. We could try to hide and wait for the caval-.”

The Sleeper smashed through the door, tracking it’s light onto Steve. Without a further word, Sam took off in the opposite direction while Steve took Bucky by the hand and ran towards the stairwell.

* * *

Sharon sprinted, slamming into the woman standing in the center or the room with a black transceiver in hand. She grabbed the gun lying on the empty wooden desk, aiming it as the other dizzily pulled herself up.

“Who the hell are you?” she screeched.

“Agent 13 of S.H.I.E.L.D. Stand down, Shmidt. I have reinforcements on the way as we speak. There’s no getting out of this.” Sharon held the gun steady, finger on the trigger.

Sin laughed, looking around the room with her brow furrowed. “Than perhaps you should have waited for this so-called backup! You can’t even use that gun. It’s one of our weapons, which means unless you’ve reprogrammed it with your fingerprint, it’s about as useful as a paperweight to you.”

She looked down at the handgun. Shit.

“If anything you sho-”

The plastic grip hit Sin’s face with crack, and she stumbled back, blood spraying on the ground.

“You jus’ brog my fuggin dose!” she screeched. “I’d gonna fuggin dill you!”

She reared back and kicked Sharron square in the chest, knocking the wind out as she smashed into the ground. Sharon scrambled to get up. Sin grabbed the nearest speaker she’d dropped and jammed the talk button. “Brog! Ged your ass up here. I don’ care wad you’re doing.”

She grabbed a fist full of blonde hair and yanked while Sharon clawed at her arms.

“Haven’t you ever fought anyone who wasn't totally helpless? ‘Cause your technique could use some work. Especially your temper…” she spat.

Sin’s grip tightened, and dug her nails into the other woman’s shoulder. Sharon twisted around and hit her awkwardly, but still painfully hard in the jaw, and she let go of her hair with a yelp.

She wrapped her arm around Sin’s neck in a sleeper hold. It took an exhausting two minutes of struggling to get her to stay down. Breathing heavily herself, she let Sin’s head drop to the floor. She got up and rummaged through the pack still attached at her hip.

“Come on, come on… there’s gotta be something in here…” She pulled out a small knife from the bottom of the bag, hardly bigger than the palm of her hand.

“Howdy, co-worker.”

Rumlow grabbed her neck, slamming her down on desk as she struggled to kick him. Sin staggered over, blood running down her chin as she gave the most impressively intense glare of seething hatred she’d ever seen in her life.

“I guess we know who cut the power now. Nice to see you again, Agent Carter. ” he growled.

“Hold her sdeady, Brog. I wand to gill her myself.” Sin wiped some blood off her face. “I don’d give a fug who you are, bud you’re going do beg for death when I’m done.”

Sharon twisted her hand around and plunged the small blade as deep as she could into Rumlow’s arm. He howled, loosening his hands just long enough for her elbow him in the face.

Sin screamed and launched herself at Sharon who managed to move just in time, grabbing a fist full of auburn hair and bashing her head into one of the drawer that was slightly pulled out. She fell to the ground, out cold. Rumlow struggled to pull the blade out of his forearm, which seemed determined to embed itself under his skin. She slammed into him, straddling him, and punching with as much force as she could muster. His face bloodied and swelled under her fists.

“Sharon!”

Her knuckles connected with his teeth.

“Sharon stop!”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and nearly hit that one as well, but turned around to see Steve and Sam and someone she didn't recognized standing beside her.

His breath hitched on the start of laugh. “I think you got him.”

“Steve. Holy shit, you guys are okay.”

Sam smiled. “Relatively. We’re being chased by a giant military robot though, so things could be better.”

“Where is it?”

“Not far behind. We were going to force Shmidt or someone to shut it down but everyone now is either knocked out or ran away.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I can’t believe you made it! Did you happen to see a metal arm thing around?”

Sam helped her to her feet and she smoothed out her hair. “Shmidt was holding something before I came at her, though I don’t know what it was. She stuck it in one of those drawers.”

The floor shook violently. Steve quickly went through each drawer, finding the arm in the bottom left. “Found it.”

“How are we going to get it on?”

Sam bent down and looked at the attachment point. It reminded Steve of the lid to the milk tin. The skin around where the metal connected to the sump was pink and irritated, like it had never had a chance to quite heal fully, or that there was nothing left to remind the body what anything but scar tissue looked like.  “I’m no mechanical expert, but I think we need to jam this part here, and then it looks like there should be a button or something to secure itself.”

He leaned against Steve while Sam held the arm, hands trying to steady themselves as he positioned the hook into the socket. With a metallic clack, the plates shifted and gears groaned to close the gap. Within a few seconds, it was nearly seamless. Bucky had gone unnaturally stiff and quiet, breathing quickly in short bursts through his nose.

“So what now?” Sharon asked as Bucky began moving his artificial fingers stiffly.

“Bucky said that the only real weak spot is it’s eyes. I seem to be the main target, so I’ll distract it while Sam helps Bucky get close enough to shatter them.”

“Then what?”

He and Sam looked at each other. “Um, wake one of them and force them to stop it? Push it through the window? We kind of made this up while we were running.”

 

She looked through her bag, which was now mostly whittled down to the basics; Swiss army knife, a wire garrote, an actual flashlight…

 

“Here, use this. It won’t be anything big, but if you can jam it in somewhere it outta do some amount of damage.” She handed Bucky a cylinder container, roughly the size of a can of soda.

 

Steve stared. “What is it?”

 

“A concussion charge. It’s non-lethal, as long as you don’t stand too close. The shock waves aren’t very kind to electrical devices though, so Barnes is going to have to move fast.”

 

They could hear the sounds of floor groaning, walls crashing not far away. With a deep breath and nod to one another, the four swung open the door. Immediately, Steve, Sharon, and Sam drew it's attention away, and as close as they could to the side of the room. **  
  
**

"Shit! It's that what's been stomping around?"

 

"Yeah! Stay out of it's beam!"

 

Bucky made quick and gracefully work, despite his injuries, to jump behind and climb his way up the, which seemed intently focused on Steve anyway. Bucky shattered the glass of the left, dropping the bomb inside. Trying to let go, he soon found his left hand unyielding in it’s grip.

“Bucky, get out of there!” Steve yelled.

The sounds of whirring, a surge of power ready to burst. “Oh-”

The grenade activated; shrapnel flew from the head of Sleeper flew every direction as it stumbled backwards toward the windows. Bucky fell to ground on his right knee with a crunching sound audible even over the sounds of tearing metal crashing through the panes, falling to the asphalt below as it tumbled off the building.

Steve rushed to his side. “Bucky! Buck, are you okay? Can you move?”

“I think I may have fractured a bone.”

Steve moved him into a more comfortable position before cradling him in his arms. He didn’t say anything, just kneeling down beside him in an embrace. Awkwardly, he reached around and returned the motion, his hand scrabbling at Steve’s shirt to hold them closer together.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what Buck? You did a great job.”

He said nothing in return. His hand was still clamped to Steve’s shirt, but it felt limp, and Steve lowered Bucky’s body just enough to looked at his face, which was arguably the most relaxed he’d seen him since 1942.

* * *

Sam and Sharon took their own rooms, courtesy of Stark, since he’d declared himself “the official team sponsor”.

“Though I’m just making this clear right now; I’m slapping a team logo on our suits next time we all get together,” Tony warned in a tone conveying no trace of apology. “I mean, I am paying for these fancy hotel rooms. Fight me.”

Steve had taken possibly the fastest shower of his life, not wanting to let Bucky out of his sight for for more than a minute. He kept the bathroom door open, watching his friend laid quietly and generally unmoving on one of the beds.

Bucky was propped up on as many pillows as Steve could get his hands on, hooked to a single IV and portable heart rate monitor. The arm was once again removed and sitting next to its owner on the nightstand. Tony had offered to try and remove the entire thing. Steve was sorely tempted to take him up on the offer.

He’d just finished getting dressed, when he noticed Bucky’s eyes were open. “Bucky! Oh my god.”

He gazed blankly at first, but then with the promise of a hint of a smile when he registered the face hovering over him. “Steve?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s me pal. How’re you feeling? The doctor said you fractured your femur and shattered you kneecap.”

He blinked. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Well, you’re kind of on a buttload of painkillers right now. They said you might need to have surgery to ge-”

Bucky looked to his right forearm and in a panic, ripped the needle from it’s vein, and nearly fell of the bed trying to sit upright.

“Woah, hey. It’s okay,” he assured. “I was here the whole time they didn’t stick you with anything sinister, I promise.”

“I don’t want any,” Bucky croaked.

“Whatever you want.”

Bucky surveyed the room, quickly darting his eyes from corner to corner. “Where are we?”

“The Royal something or other. You passed out for a while, so I thought a plane ride would be a little much, but I didn’t want to take you to hospital either… Anyway, Stark herded us all here after Schmidt and Rumlow and their men got hauled off by the military.”

Bucky let out a deep breath, though Steve wasn’t sure how much of it had gotten through to him while he was still scrutinizing the bedroom. He leaned back into the pillow and closed his eyes.

“Howard needs to mind his own business,” he mumbled. Almost immediately he opened his eyes in confusion, like the words had escaped before the brain could process them.

Steve’s smile was painful. “It’s Tony, actually. His son. He also took your arm back off, since it seemed to be hurting you. I’m sorry, Bucky, I didn’t even ask you about the plan I just kind of ordered you a-and I didn’t even think… it was easy to pretend it was just like old times I guess. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky nodded, face contorted as though he didn’t quite understand him.

“Tony offered to remove the rest of it too, but I told him it was your decision. So, what do you want to do?”

“You want me to decide?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to decide right now. Take as much time as you need.”

He nodded. They sat in silence for several minutes, not counting the occasional grunt from Bucky as the pain of his injuries slowly crept their way back without the IV.

“Why did you come to London in the first place? You saved my life in the river, but you just left.”

“I needed to find Hydra.”

“For what?” Steve clenched his hands on the sides of the chair he’d pulled next to the bed. The sharp crack of splitting wood startled them both. “To go after them, or go to them?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably under the covers. “You sound like a girl I used to know. Always asking questions.”

Steve started to defend himself when Bucky took his hand and tugged, trying to get Steve on the bed with him. He could swear Steve blushed, but it was fleeting, and soon he was sitting crosslegged next to him as stern faced as ever.

“I remember a lot more than I used to. When they, I don’t know, wiped my mind earlier, I don’t think it got rid of as much as it was suppose to. Not that I’d remember, of course. But, I do remember you. I remember dreaming about you a lot these past few weeks. And even before that, too.” Bucky ran his hand up and down Steve’s shoulder, trying to recall something with touch alone.

Steve didn’t stop him, but he gulped loudly. “What’d you dream about?”

“Falling. Regret. Anger. Shame, mostly. Sometimes they were nice though. I’m not sure if any of them were memories. Probably not.”

 

Steve didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. Mostly he just didn’t really understand what Bucky was saying. Where could you even begin on a subject like this?

He didn’t have time to figure it out, because Bucky pulled his head down and place a dry, awkward kiss on his lips. He almost didn’t believe it had just happened, because Bucky’s face had not changed from it’s stoic placement, though his body looked somehow more relaxed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t- don’t be sorry,” Steve managed to spit out. “Just uh… warn me… next… time.” He scratched the back of his neck and broke eye contact.

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“Yeah Buck. I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

Steve had fallen asleep in nearly the same position he’d climbed into bed with, only now lying down backwards on the bed.

Bucky got dressed in the first outfit he could find that fit (mostly), and rummaged quietly through drawers around the suite until he found a pen and paper, both with the hotel logo printed neatly on them. It took three squares of paper and clumsy writing, of which was an ungodly mix of Cyrillic and Latin script. He picked up his arm and replaced it with the note, silently slipping away back into the city.

* * *

_Wait just a little while longer. I’ll come find you._

_- ~~James Buch~~ Bucky_

* * *

Steve’s eyes were red and puffy, but none the less looked far more relieved than when they’d first set out on their search. He’d hidden away in one of the private rooms, away from hot tub and strippers (for your information Wilson, they are not strippers, they are flight attendants who happen to also be very good at pole dancing).

“You alright pal?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I dunno.”

Sam sat down opposite him and chewed at his lip before speaking. “This was where I was going to give you the lecture on self preservation and the Helicarrier and all that, but I’ll let you off the hook if you answer something for me.”

“Hm?” Stever lifted his head.

“When you were saving my ass in there, saying I had the serum and yadda yadda yadda, you said ‘it was the only way you would be able to retire’.”

Steve looked embarrassed, or maybe ashamed. He decided to stare back out the window again.

“When Fury first recruited me to SHIELD… I mean, I don’t know. I figured it was my chance to just be a regular guy again, and still do good. But then New York came and I realized, I wouldn’t ever really get to quit being ‘Captain America’, you know? I went under as a kind of symbol, and woke up as a part of our culture. Captain America is never really going to die. I can’t get away from it. The only way I’d be able to is-”

“-if someone took up the name for you.”

Steve nodded. “I never wanted it Sam. I just wanted to do the right thing.”

He suddenly smiled.

“What?”

“So you were kind of speaking from the heart right? Did I hear a job offer in that panicked half lie of yours?”

Steve started coughing conspicuously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“‘Cus don’t get me wrong man, I’m not saying I’d necessarily want it, but I am saying I would gladly hoard it so no one else could. Plus I figure there’s gotta be some perks that come with the job.”

“Oh well, if that’s all…”

“And you could finally follow your dream of becoming an Ultimate Fighter.”

Steve laughed so hard his whole body shook.

“I think I’d better stick with it for now. At least until I find a better gig,” he smiled.

“Fair enough. As for me, I’m going to go check out some of that fancy food Stark’s got out there. I suggest you follow, before we eat it all.”

“I’ll be out in a few. Promise.”

* * *

The number had been scratching at the back of his skull for weeks now. He’d figured it was probably a telephone number, but what was on the the other end scared him. He programmed into the phone he’d gotten with a phony credit card, flipping it between his fingers for nearly an hour. Finally, more accident than not, his thumb fell on the call button.

“Sergeant Barnes?” someone asked after only three rings.

Bucky stumbled over his words. “I-I um… y-yes?”

“We’ve been waiting for your call. Direct- I mean, Mr. Fury was getting worried you’d forgotten about us. Would you like someone to pick you up? I’m afraid it’s the only way we’ll be able to meet face to face. It’s too dangerous to give you our location like this.”

Bucky looked over at his left arm. Wires poked out of the vents; metal grinding against itself where it’d either melted or crushed. It barely moved at all these days, but when it did he couldn’t do much but bend at the elbow joint. The fingers had long since stopped working altogether.

“You aren’t HYDRA right?”

The voice gave a forced laugh. “I certainly hope not. If you feel uncomfortable right now, I can give you a new number to contact us with in the future.”

“Not it’s just… I have one condition.”

“Absolutely sir. Just name it,” they said enthusiastically.

“I’ll need a new arm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Bonus~
> 
> [on The Bus]
> 
> “Sergeant Barnes? Quick question. Would it be insensitive to ask if, hypothetically, I had some trading cards and wanted you to sign them?”
> 
> “Uh…”
> 
> “Follow up; I read a lot of speculative biographies about you and Captain Rogers over the years based on letters and diaries you both kept which we could _totally get back from the museums if you wanted_ , and I was wondering if you and him ever-”
> 
> “Phil, the man’s a war hero and trauma survivor who escaped being held prisoner. Leave your fanboy questions for another day.”
> 
> “Dammit May! Let me have my moment!”  
> \-------------------------------------
> 
> We did it folks! I dug down deep and found the strength and motivation to finally finish this fic. 
> 
> I'm still continuing this series, and frankly I don't see me stopping until Avengers 2, upon which I will most likely start a whole new one. Stay tuned for a Bucky/Steve reunion romance, Alexander Lukin having the crap beat out of him, and Kate Bishop letting strange yet attractive ex-assassins into Clint's apartment while he's away.
> 
> As always, please alert me to any mistakes.


End file.
